


Twenty-Four Days of Christmas, One Day of Hell

by wellthisisprettyrisque (collettephinz)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Betrayal, But no one dies, But not an average Christmas fic, Cheating, Christmas fic, College AU, Comfort, Dating, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt, M/M, New Relationship, No Character Death, Promise, Psychological Trauma, Revenge, Stalking, Stephen King's Misery Inspired, Torture, but Ryan is my bae, like really guys fair warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5384471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/wellthisisprettyrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, all Brendon was supposed to do was date Ryan Ross, make Ryan fall in love with him (which wouldn't be fucking hard, I mean, have you seen Brendon?) and then break up with the guy on Christmas Eve to get back at him for cheating on Greta.</p><p>And according to cliché, Brendon falls in love with Ryan. Not a big deal, right?</p><p>Except, Greta's not the person Brendon thought she was.</p><p>(easily related to Stephen King's "Misery")<br/>(i'm shit at summaries, seriously, i need to get someone else to write these)<br/>(completed)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the First Day of Christmas, She Lost Her Fucking Head

**Author's Note:**

> if you know me and you've read anything by me, you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Ryan sure as hell didn't do the stuff he's accused of in the beginning of this chapter
> 
> this story is gonna start nice and cute but it's not?
> 
> it's really not
> 
> this first chapter's gonna be fine, i promise, but after this, it's not gonna be okay for most of the fic
> 
> fair warning
> 
> have fun

“He broke up with me, Brendon!” 

Brendon looked up from where he’d been doing jack all. Playing video games or some shit, maybe a horror movie? Brendon looked down to see what controller was in his hand and saw one for the Playstation3, so he was probably playing Outlast again. For, like, the third time. Brendon knew he needed a new hobby, or maybe he should care about his studies more? But that would mean he’d have to care about caring, and, you know, he just wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment yet.

His roommate was a lifelong friend. Greta Salpeter, a pretty girl with too much talent for her own good. She was failing half her classes, but justified failing by getting new gigs that were bigger and bigger with more and more “fans” that were really just numerous broads and bros wanting to fuck her and the gigs were never any bigger than seedy bars, so she was really just eye candy. Brendon totally understood that desire, but he’d seen this girl vomit over half the bathroom after some crazy party, had been there the night she first got her period, and had also been there this one time she shit her pants because she’d been too stubborn to go to a port-o-potty. 

Needless to say, all attraction was nonexistent.

“Who broke up with you?” Brendon asked. It was hard to ignore her, especially when she sounded so distressed. She’d had about seven serious boyfriends in her lifetime and all of them had ended badly; two of them even fucking died. She’d been so horribly hopeful over this one, Brendon remembered her getting drunk off a bottle of wine by herself and crying about how badly she needed this, needed something good. Brendon had wanted this to be good for her, he really had, he was sure she deserved something good, right? Brendon wasn’t sure. He was being chased by the fucking black ghost thing in Outlast and he was always really shitty at avoiding the huge monster dude.

“Ryan Ross,” Greta said, sounding more angry than sad. That was good. Sweet. Maybe he’d just buy her some Baileys and everything would be okay. “Ryan Ross dumped me because he’s a fucking faggot!”

Brendon paused the game.

“Woah there,” he said, turning around, eyebrows sky-high into his hairline. “Hey, darling, you can’t just call people that. I mean, how do you know he left you for that reason? And you can’t just go around using words like that, you could really hurt someone.”

“I don’t care!” she cried out. Her curly blonde hair was everywhere on her face, like fire in the lamplight. “I want to hurt him!”

“No, you don’t,” Brendon said.

“Yes, I do!” she snapped, absolutely furious. “He’s fucking gay! I saw him kissing another boy behind the preforming arts building! While he was with me! He fucking cheated on me, Brendon, he fucking broke my heart!”

Greta stomped around the living room and kicked over a trash can. Brendon was used to her temper tantrums and usually just turned ip the volume, put on something noisy and disruptive, and let her hash it out on her own.

Though he was really fucking pissed about the cheating thing. Like, have you looked at Greta? She was all curves and passion and optimism. You had to be a crazy person to think you could find someone better.

“I need you to do me a favor, Brendon,” Greta said instead of screaming. Brendon was mildly shocked, but only mildly. She was very prone to mood swings. He was easily able to predict her unpredictability. “I need you to do me a favor, okay? And, and you can say it’s my Christmas present or something, I don’t care. Do this for me for my Christmas present and I’ll be so happy and love you forever and shit. Will you do this for me?”

Brendon stared at the ghost he’d forgotten how to escape and nodded. “What is it?”

“I need you to date Ryan for me,” she said.

Brendon laughed. And laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed and stood up and tossed his controller aside and went to the fridge for a beer. When he’d finally calmed down and drank half the bottle in a few gulps, he turned to Greta, wiping his mouth. “Where can I find him?” He’d known Greta for most of his life. He was gonna help her. And totally owed her for the time she’d been his date to the Mormon class dance thing to help him make another girl jealous. 

“He’s an English major with an emphasis in Creative Writing and Prose, but he teaches a yoga class on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Greta said. “You can find him there.”

“How long do I do this?” Brendon asked, needing details. He went back to the couch and brought the controller into his lap again.

“Till Christmas,” Greta replied. It was nice to know that Greta had been counting on Brendon saying yes. She totally trusted him. That was really nice. “Then break up with him on Christmas, yeah? No, no, Christmas Eve! Leave him totally alone! Like he left me!”

“You’ve got the mean streak coming back,” Brendon said with a smirk. “Did he make you cry.”

Greta nodded. “I cried. A lot. I almost crashed my car.”

“Is he an asshole?”

“A huge dick,” Greta told him, accentuating each word. 

Brendon smirked a bit. Greta leaned over the edge of the sofa to look Brendon in the eye. “Will you do this for me?” she asked, bating her eyelashes like she would when she wanted her dad to buy her ice cream, or her mom to leave the dog outside, or for Brendon to bring her a blanket. 

“I’ll do this for you,” Brendon said. “For you. You.” He reached up and tugged her ear. It was something he’d always done to show that he was there. When Greta would crawl into his bed with something about nightmares, he’d tug at her earlobe and let her fall asleep. He would do this for her. Anything to help her feel better. “You’ll find someone,” he told Greta. “And he won’t cheat on you like a piece of shit.”

She smiled and pecked his cheek. “I’ll sign you up for yoga.”

Brendon nodded and turned back to his game, bracing himself for the newest reason he’d have to hate Tuesdays and Thursdays and just about any day of the week. He threw his controller at the sofa seat next to him when the ghost killed him and tried to remember where he’d put his weed.

. . .

Tuesday came after Money and was, luckily, Brendon’s slower day of the week. His theatre major wasn’t all that difficult, especially when he only work as a choreographer, or at least, was interested in that shit. He didn’t have a rehearsal for another month and no musical for another two months, both of them after the winter break, with only the occasional skit. Brendon was at a lull with his studies and wasn’t even gonna bother putting effort into a paper he knew his teacher wasn’t gonna grade. He’d write words, throw his name on it, and be done.

And the awesome thing about being the jazziest dancer on the street was that he was already a flexible mother fucker. Yoga would be a cinch.

Also, Brendon looked fucking fab in yoga pants. 

He was waiting in the yoga studio in the HLC and was checking out his ass in the mirror with absolutely no shame. He’d worked hard for this butt. And the exercise shirt that clung to his flat, toned abs was a definite thing to be proud of. Brendon met his own eyes in the mirror and smirked. He stared at the way the tight material hugged his shapely thighs and calves, how the shirt showed off the curve of his spine. His body was sharp angles and sex appeal.

Brendon met another man’s eye in the mirror and froze.

Jesus, talk about sex appeal?

Brendon wasn’t gay. He wasn’t. He’d explored homosexuality, duh, he’d fucked his best friend, Pete Wentz, and that had been great, but he knew he wasn’t gay. Dick up his ass was nice, but pussy in his face was even more nice.

Still, this guy? 

He was curves and skin and bones and had a beautiful face and curly hair and amber eyes and pink cheeks and a strong jaw with these fucking huge hands and probably what was the biggest bulge in the front of his yoga pants that Brendon had ever seen. Brendon stared unabashedly and noticed a edgy seam. 

The guy had to fucking re-seam his pants to make his dick fit, jesus, and he was so bad at sewing, Brendon could tell.

“I can fix that for you,” Brendon offered to the man, pointing at his dick. 

The man snorted and turned to face all the people in the room. “Hi, everyone,” he greeted. “My name is Ryan Ross and I’ll be your instructor for these classes. You’ve all signed up for the two week course, meaning four yoga lessons total. A very, very easy introductory class that is meant to just help you figure out if yoga is right for you. If it’s not, but you find yourself interested in some other forms of exercise, I can refer you to some of my colleagues. Is everyone ready to get started?”

Brendon wasn’t even embarrassed. He just smirked wider. This guy? This huge dick, pretty boy was the guy who he was gonna date and break, all for Greta. God, he was excited for this. He just looked pretentious, you know? And he was an English major! That made him twice the asshole he had to be. 

Breaching the subject of the guy’s junk was the best flirtatious introduction Brendon had ever made, and it was entirely on accident. He was so proud of himself. He was gonna get in those yoga pants in no time. A human being in yoga pants is a sinful act because it’s literally impossible to look bad. Brendon loved anyone in yoga pants. He just fucking loved it.

Then this guy turned around, Ryan Ross turned around, and holy shit, that ass was almost as good as his own. It was perky and round and full and nothing like the rest of the guy’s body. Ryan Ross was skinny and skeletal and Brendon had learned the word emaciated the other day, so the word was oddly appropriate to use today for this guy. 

But _holy hell_ , that booty.

Brendon licked his lips, actually licked his lips, and knew he was gonna have a good time. A thirty minute yoga class led by an instructor with a body like that, _and_ he was on a super secret mission to date the hell out of him just to dump him? Probably the best one night stand he could think of. He couldn’t wait to hurt the guy like he’d hurt Greta. It was just an added bonus that Brendon wasn’t having a hard time looking at him. That meant, when he fucked this guy into the fucking mattress, he was going to have some fun of his own. It was easier to keep it up when you didn’t have to imagine a different face.

God, Brendon was going to enjoy this.

The whole introductory course, Brendon went out of his way to stretch higher, reach lower, _spread wider_. And he knew Ryan was looking. He made sure of it. He kept fierce eye contact with Ryan, practically fucking him right there. Brendon might have been fucking Ryan in his head, anyways.

Ryan was struggling, Brendon could tell. He was pretty sure the guy wasn’t used to such outright staring, and wondered what kind of boyfriend he’d been to Greta. Greta came home with flowers and chocolates and letters and gifts. Her and Ryan had been dating for four months? Or something like that. He’d seemed to be a really doting boyfriend, affectionate and almost rich. Greta would brag about the dates they went on, the expensive food, the art galleries, high class stuff that made Brendon jealous. He’d never had much wealth. Apparently, Ryan did.

He wondered if Ryan was going to spoil Brendon just as much.

When the thirty minutes were up, Ryan was flustered and fumbling over his words. He could barely look Brendon in the eye, but he was smiling, this little twitch of his lips. Brendon was surprised with how easy this guy was to read. He’d seemed to be an introvert, but then again, you didn't teach an introductory yoga course if you were reclusive. But he was definitely shy. Brendon could tell he was so very shy, like he’d never really been looked at before. Brendon found himself wanting to boost his confidence, but then he remembered Ryan was a cheating asshole who was also fucking gay, and he’d hurt Greta. Ryan was already in a no-fly zone. Brendon was gonna make him crash-land into regret, guilt, and well-deserved agony.

When Ryan told everyone to pack up and come back Thursday, Brendon stood from the position he was in— that was basically him presenting his ass to everyone in the room— and stalked towards Ryan.

“The offer still stands,” he said smoothly. “Won’t even take my a minute to fix that seam.”

“It’s fine,” Ryan chuckled, though he looked a little uncomfortable. Definitely shy. Brendon wanted to punch the guy’s mouth when he remembered how upset Greta had been. “You, uh, you seemed to know what you were doing. Are you sure you should be in the introductory course? I could move you up, free of charge.”

“You don’t want to have me in class anymore?” Brendon asked with a teasing pout. “Could have sworn I was easier on the eyes.”

“You had quite a few people staring,” Ryan said. “You were definitely a distraction for many of m-my students.” Ryan stumbled over the words “my students” like he didn’t think they were actually his students. Or maybe that he wasn’t a teacher?

“Was I distracting you?” Brendon asked in a low voice.

Ryan blushed.

It suited him.

“I really would like to fix that hemming in your pants.”

“Buy me dinner first,” Ryan shot back.

“Sure,” Brendon said. “I can pick you up later tonight. Seven work for you?”

Ryan looked like he would have tripped, choked, and done a spit take all at once if he’d been doing anything to merit any of those comedic reactions. Brendon smirked and was very proud of himself. He was really good at this.

“A-are you asking me on a date?” Ryan asked, eyes wide.

Brendon grinned and nodded. “Yeah.”

Ryan didn’t answer for a few seconds that Brendon used to exude confidence. “Okay.”

Brendon grinned wider and clapped his hands. He was that much closer to shoving this guy’s nose in the dirt. “Sweet! Can I get your number? So I don’t just drive aimlessly around the city, looking for the boy with the button nose and gorgeous eyes.”

Ryan squeaked, actually squeaked, and Brendon suddenly realized he couldn’t imagine this guy being straight and being the dominant person in the relationship. Though really, Greta dominated every relationship she was in. Ryan was really submissive. Brendon kinda liked it. It would be easier to fuck him up.

Ryan told Brendon his number with this shaky smile, like he was in disbelief that he was being noticed. Brendon was surprised this kid could cheat on someone like Greta, cheat on anyone, really. But he was _sometimes_ a bad read of other people. He could be wrong. He wouldn’t mind being wrong. Otherwise, the would make him a really shitty person. He couldn’t imagine hurting someone like Ryan needlessly. That would make him a psychopath or something.

“I’ll pick you up at seven, beautiful,” Brendon said, happy that wooing this asshole was easier than wooing a girl. Probably because the dude was desperate. He wondered who Ryan had been using to cheat on Greta. Brendon wondered if he should get back at them, or if they’d also been manipulated by Ryan.

“I, I’ll see you then,” Ryan said with a tiny smile. “I, uh, I-I’ve got another yoga class to teach. I’ll text you my address after that. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely,” Brendon said in a low, sultry voice. He was putting all his effort into the smolder that he was only half sure he had. It was a hit or miss tactic. This time, it was a hit. Ryan blushed and ducked his head to hide said blush and left in the rush. Brendon chuckled to himself. He would’ve been worried about something showing in the front of Ryan’s pants if he already didn’t have that fucking monster cock. “I really do want to fix that seam.”

. . .

When Brendon got to Ryan’s apartment, he sat down on the guy’s couch and redid the seam on those pants. 

Ryan had told Brendon that both his roommates were out with their respective girlfriends, and that Ryan just had to turn in a paper before they could go out. Brendon had agreed and seen the guy’s laundry folded on the table with the yoga pants. He found himself wondering why a guy with a dick like Ryan’s had yoga pants in the first place. It was almost like he was asking for the attention. He was probably asking for the attention.

Ryan came into the living room and laughed a little. “Uh, can I help you with that? And do you actually carry a sewing kit with you everywhere?”

“Only for special occasions,” Brendon replied with a wink. He hoped the date wouldn’t be too boring. He’d forced himself through dates before just to get laid. The other person had probably been looking for sex, too, so the date was just semantics and felt mandatory. He hoped he wouldn’t be too bored. He finished the seam, then lied out the yoga pants to the side. He then looked to the front of Ryan’s pants and chuckled. “Dude, really? Do you have to get custom made pants?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Ryan said, blushing faintly, though he was also wearing a smirk. “Wearing a lot of black helps. Makes the shadows harder to see.” He was wearing a shit ton of black. Black skinny jeans, a black leather jacket, and a grey v-neck. Brendon looked to the guy’s hair and wondered if it was supposed to look messed up and mussy, or if he was just lazy.

“I was thinking we’d get dinner, then see where it goes from there,” Brendon said. “There’s a lot to do downtown. You and I could just see what happens or what looks cool and then go for it.” Usually, when he did this, it mean that he’d be in store for window show and walks and shit like that after a dinner of having his fries and desert stolen. He didn’t mind any of it. It was within his playing field.

Ryan smiled and nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

. . .

Ryan got a fucking huge ass steak, tricked Brendon by paying for the meal by himself, and then insisting they go fucking night paint-balling.

Ryan had ducked behind cover at one point and shot out randomly at the same time, hitting an opponent square in the fucking face on complete accident. He’d won a free two-liter of Mountain Dew for that shot and had ended up pouring half of it over his own head, then the other half over Brendon’s head in some weird celebration.

He wasn’t sure if it was the wine from dinner, the thrill of paint-balling, or the company itself, but that was the best date Brendon had ever been on.

When he pulled up in front of Ryan’s apartment complex, Ryan had leaned over the console and kissed the corner of Brendon’s lips before sliding out of the car with a promise to text Brendon once he’d taken a shower. Brendon hadn’t even realized he was looking forward to texting Ryan until he was halfway home. He’d been too busy planning their next date, wanting to take Ryan to the mall and do a scavenger hunt instead of actually shop.

Jesus christ.

This wasn’t good. 

. . .

“How was the date?” Greta demanded, not even waiting to interrogate Brendon once he was awake and moving the next morning. “What’s he like? Did he kiss you? Did you kiss him?”

“What’s he like?” Brendon repeated, frowning. “Greta, you dated him for four months.”

She dropped onto the couch and brought one of the sofa pillows to her face. “I miss him so much!”

Brendon wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be an answer to his question, but he did feel bad for her. 

“Look at these pictures of us,” she said wistfully, holding up her phone. “See? This is the time he left me in his car to go grocery shopping.” She showed Brendon he’d already seen of her sitting pretty in an unfamiliar vehicle, with the seatbelt carefully wedged between her breasts to emphasize her cleavage. Brendon snorted at the picture because it was just so Greta that it was funny. “And here’s us waiting in line for food,” she said, swiping to show the next image of her taking a high selfie with Ryan just behind her, facing the other direction. Brendon smirked, because of course Ryan would be camera shy. “And then the morning after,” Greta said even more wistfully, swiping again to show a selfie of Greta in bed with Ryan sleeping beside her. She was clothed, probably dressed to get to class, while Ryan was shirtless, the sheets tangled around his legs and waist. He had to be a really deep sleeper, because it looked like the flash didn’t even phase him.

“You guys were cute together,” Brendon said with a soft smile.

“I miss him,” she whimpered.

Brendon looked down and saw she had tears in her eyes. “Hey, baby,” he murmured, running his fingers through her curly hair. “Don’t sweat it. He doesn’t deserve someone like you.” Though Brendon did have a fucking awesome date. Brendon was surprised Ryan hadn’t insisted on somewhere fancier than Outback, but god, was he happy Ryan hadn’t. Because if they’d gone anywhere else, they wouldn’t have gone paint balling and Brendon wouldn’t have washed Mountain Dew from his hair with a stupid grin.

“Was the date good?” she asked. “I miss dating him. He would take me to the nicest places. Where’d you go?”

“Outback and paint balling,” Brendon said.

She scoffed. “You took him paint balling? Bad move. He hates paint balling. He thinks it’s dumb. He told me so.”

Brendon paused. “… He was the one to choose paint balling, Greta.”

Her expression wiped clean. “That liar,” she said after a long moment. Then she started crying again, like flicking a switch.

Brendon sighed and pet her hair again. “Want some ice cream? And your favorite book?

“Yes, please,” she sobbed.

Brendon nodded and got up to grab The Dying’s Crying by George M. Cartney and the last of the cookie dough ice cream.

. . .

“So, I have an actual plan for our next date,” Brendon told Ryan over the phone as he walked away from the class he’d ditched. “Which is tonight.”

“ _Tonight?”_ Ryan echoed. “ _Didn’t we go last night?”_

“I mean, yeah, but I want to see you again,” and Brendon was a little worried to realize that he meant it. “Do you have any classes? You should ditch. It’s almost winter break. Are you going anywhere for the break? I’m totally not, I hate my shitty family.”

Ryan chuckled and Brendon fucked loved it. _“I don’t have any family,”_ he told Brendon. _“I’m having a small Christmas of my own. My roommates are going away, so it’ll just be me. It’ll be nice.”_

“Oh my god,” Brendon gasped. “Let’s spend Christmas together and kiss under the mistletoe.”

Ryan laughed again and Brendon almost tripped over a curb and spilled his coffee all over himself.

_“I think I’d like that. When’s the date tonight?”_

Brendon shoved his fist into the air like Judd Nelson. He got a second date the next night. 

He was so awesome.

. . .

After Ryan had found all three types of cologne, taken a selfie on the kid’s train that went around the mall, and gotten his cellphone wrapped by the Salvation Army gift wrappers (and then leaving a $50 donation, jesus), Ryan won the scavenger hunt and was awarded the right to choose where they’d be going for dinner.

“My place?” Ryan suggested with this small smile that Brendon used to think meant he was shy, but had later learned it could also mean that he was up to something Brendon was going to like.

“Sounds scandalous,” Brendon said with a ridiculous wiggle of his brow. Ryan laughed and Brendon, over the course of the night, had grown more and more comfortable with being a goofy dork, because he could actually make Ryan laugh. And that was something he wasn’t used to being able to do with mostly anyone, especially someone on their second date. 

“I have pasta and stuff I can make,” Ryan told Brendon. “Tomato sauce okay? Or Alfredo. Jon, one of my roommates, made this awesome Alfredo sauce and there’s a bunch left over. I’ve got some red wine and I can toss a salad. It won’t take long.”

“That sounds really fancy,” Brendon said with a snort. He wondered if he was gonna get laid tonight.

“So is that a yes?” Ryan prodded, looking a little excited.

“It’s an absolute yes,” Brendon affirmed, drinking the last of his Starbucks drink that had literally every syrup in it— one of the items needed for the scavenger hunt. Brendon really hadn’t minded losing. He had just really wanted to win.

Ryan pulled Brendon to the car and Brendon shamelessly stared at Ryan’s ass the whole way.

. . .

Brendon was surprised when they got to Ryan’s place, because one of his roommates and said roommate’s girlfriend was there, and Ryan seemed completely unfazed. 

“Have you guys eaten?” Ryan asked. “I’m making dinner.”

“Oh my god, Ry, please make food,” the girlfriend said, grinning. “I can’t forget those amazing enchiladas you made last week. What’re we gonna have tonight?”

“Pasta with Alfredo,” Ryan hummed.

“Who’s your friend?” The roommate asked, eyeing Brendon suspiciously.

“Oh, shit,” Ryan said. “Spence? This is Brendon, my uh, a, a student who I’m maybe dating now, and—”

“No, we’re dating,” Brendon interrupted. “It’s not a maybe.”   
Ryan smiled wide. “Yeah, this is Brendon,” he continued. “Brendon, this is my roommate Spencer and his girlfriend, Linda. They’ve been dating for about three years. They met our freshman year at this university and haven’t been apart since. Not sure why they don’t live together considering half of their wardrobes are in the respective persons’ apartment.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Brendon greeted politely. Hopefully Spencer wouldn’t beat the shit out of Brendon once he fucked Ryan over. Spencer looked like the guy who could secretly throw a killer punch.

“You should probably make enough for leftovers tomorrow, Ross,” Spencer told Ryan. “Jon’s on some sociology project about mass drinking. It’s an excuse to get drunk with his entire class of over a hundred fucking people. Isn’t that insane?”  “Sounds a lot like Jon,” Ryan chuckled. He was in the kitchen, filling a large pot with water. “Wanna help me by warming up the Alfredo sauce, Spence?”

“Don’t let him do that,” Linda chuckled, getting up from the couch. “He’ll make the stuff explode over the microwave. I’ll handle it.”

Ryan thanked Linda for the help and invited Brendon to sit in the living room while he worked. When Brendon sat in an arm chair, Spencer rounded about to face him with narrowed eyes.

“You guys fucked yet or is this something else?” Spencer asked. “Cause Ryan and I both box. I don’t have to defend him, even though he sucks at boxing compared to me.”

Brendon chuckled, confident under the interrogation, and shook his head. “I was just in his yoga class and thought he was cute. Laid down the moves, got him to say yes to a date, and then sealed the deal with Australian steak and guns that shoot paint, though that last part was his idea.”   
Spencer nodded, eyes still narrowed shrewdly. “What’s your major?”

“Theatre,” Brendon answered. “Choreography, to be specific. Dance and stage placement. I like to tell people what to do and how to do it best. It’s great shit, man. And I’ve got a really nice ass from all of it.”

“So you can dance?” Ryan asked from the kitchen. “What kind of dancing?”

“Basically everything,” Brendon replied, mostly looking to Ryan now. “My parents made me take tap when I was a little kid, so I just kept with it. Then I took ballroom dancing, jazz, salsa, swing, the waltz, hip hop— I took at least a year of everything you can think of. And I’m furthering all of it.”

“So a romantic date of dancing under the moonlight is a definite possibility?” Linda asked with a smirk. “I’ve been trying to get Spencer to take ballroom dancing lessons with me, but he’s got two left feet and no patience to learn otherwise.”

“Four step is the best place to start,” Brendon told her and Spencer. “I mean, it’s not hard at all.”

“Ryan dances worse than me,” Spencer said, probably just to get the attention off of his failures.

Ryan snorted. “Asshole.”

Spencer flipped him off and grabbed a textbook off the coffee table.

“What do you study?” Brendon asked, just to keep the conversation going.

“Law,” Spencer said. “Criminal justice or whatever. I just wanna put assholes in prison. And then Ryan’s gonna write about all my awesome cases and I’ll be just as famous as him.”

Ryan whirled around and gave Spencer this deadly stare that Brendon had never seen before.

“You’re famous?” Brendon asked curiously.

“Not really,” Ryan sighed, looking rather annoyed with Spencer. “He’s just talking about something that I usually save to tell people only after a while. It, it’s not a big deal, really, just kinda weird. I don’t know. You could react in a very different way than I could predict.”

“Dude, you gotta tell me now,” Brendon prodded, excited but a little nervous, though maybe in a good way? He was sure Ryan wasn’t actually famous, and it wouldn’t be for anything psycho like getting out of a murder case or escaping the feds for robbing a bank if he was.

Ryan grimaced. “I don’t know.”

“I like you, Ryan,” Brendon said, only kinda freaked out that he wasn’t lying. “I kinda plan on sticking around for a while, so you should just tell me now. Get it out of the way, you know? I’m not gonna leave you over it.” Just something else. “I’m a chill guy. Half the time I’m high, the other half I’m buying weed. You should just tell me.”

Spencer smirked in Brendon’s peripheral, looking haughtily to Ryan.

Ryan sighed, then left the kitchen. He went down a hall and disappeared into what Brendon remembered was Ryan’s room. Then he came back with a hardback novel and tossed it into Brendon’s lap.

It was a novel by George M. Cartney.

“Oh, hey,” Brendon said. “I know this guy. My roommate loves his books. She’s totally obsessed.” He knew this novelist was a big deal. There was a movie deal for one of his books, The Taking of Nostalgia. 

“That’s my book,” Ryan said. 

Brendon paused. “Your book?”

Ryan nodded. “All of them are.”

Brendon also paused. “… I’m not following.”

“I wrote those,” Ryan sighed. “They’re mine. That’s an alias, a pen name. I’m George Cartney.”

Brendon gaped. “No fucking way,” he blurted out. “No, you’re not. You’re not!” He started laughing in disbelief. “You’re not. No way can you be him.” Jesus, Greta really should have told him this. No way could she have dated the guy for four months and not found out. Why didn’t she tell him?

Ryan looked kinda hurt, maybe even more nervous than Brendon had been. 

“This is amazing,” Brendon told him. “My boyfriend writes books? That’s the classiest thing ever. Definitely someone I could bring home to the parents.”

Ryan looked thrown for a loop, but he quickly smiled. “Yeah? You’re not, like, freaked out?”

“You’ve got a movie deal coming!” Brendon gasped. “Dude, congratulations! I fucking love the casting. Jean Boldt is a perfect Greg. And dude, in Broken Windshields? Your tip of the hat to Damon and Pythias? Kinda made me cry a little. Only when I was alone. And when no one really knew I was home. There was maybe wine involved. A lot of wine.”

Spencer snorted. “You’re painting yourself as a pretty picture here.”

“I have no shame,” Brendon said. “Ryan’s words have seen me at my worst. Why the hell do I care what he thinks now?”

Ryan looked oddly touched by that statement, and Brendon wasn’t even sure why he’d said that. He was more shocked to realize it was true. And then he was a thousand more times shocked (and a little scared) to learn that he was willing to tell Ryan a lot of things he hadn’t ever planned on telling anyone. 

Oh no.

“I’m gonna keep working on dinner,” Ryan said. He hesitated, glanced around, looking like he was trying to make up his mind. Then Ryan strode over, looking one part determined, and one part scared shitless, before standing in front of Brendon, ducking down, and kissing him chastely. But the simple touch left Brendon breathless and he was suddenly terrified of the fact that he could feel himself falling for Ryan, and it felt like drowning. 

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

. . .

In yoga the next day, Brendon kept sending Ryan dark glances. He’d been frazzled for the rest of the date that night, had been shitty conversation, but Ryan hadn’t seemed to mind. He probably knew what he’d done to Brendon with the kiss, that bastard. Though really, Brendon didn’t mind. He was experiencing a new thrill he’d never had in a relationship before.

He was so used to chasing that it had begun to bore him. The same moves, the same tricks, the same lines and lies. He just had to flick his wrist, move his hips, and he’d have won. It wasn’t that women were easy, he was just that good.

But with Ryan? Ryan didn’t give Brendon he chase. He didn’t give Brendon a game. He gave Brendon a puzzle, one with the most perfect image at the end. When Brendon gave, Ryan gave back, but never in the way Brendon expected. He’d gone to Ryan’s house, expecting to get laid, but had walked away blushing with shaking hands and a tremble to his heart that was far more meaningful and scarier than lust. God, Brendon hadn’t even had his dick touched, and he was obsessed.

Yoga was torture, because now Brendon wasn’t picturing Ryan bent over a bed or anything, he was remembering how well Ryan had moved behind cover while paint balling. He was seeing the light sheen of sweat on Ryan’s forehead, not from sex, but from stirring pasta over the stove while telling some stupid joke that Brendon had enjoyed way too much. He would hear Ryan give these instructions and he just couldn’t stop thinking about when Ryan had asked a woman working at a handbag store which purse could hold the most condoms.

Brendon was starting to realize that he wasn’t so sure he could break up with Ryan and break his heart. Not without breaking his own heart.

Whenever Ryan walked past Brendon’s mat to correct a stance (because Brendon was oddly flustered and unable to bend like he usually could), Ryan would let his touch linger in places that were so innocent. Brendon’s shoulder or his calve. Places that were just not very high up on the thrills scale, but when it was Ryan, every place he touched felt like fire. Brendon wasn’t used to being teased. And he definitely wasn’t used to being teased so well, especially, like, literally the most innocent touches you could ever use on your boyfriend. Seriously, his calves? What the hell.

By the end of the lesson, Brendon was even more frazzled and strung out and horribly confused. The tables had been turned on him in the course of a night, with just one simple gesture. Brendon had always been the one to initiate the first kiss, always. He wasn’t sure what to do next because suddenly Ryan was the one calling the shots and Brendon was freaked out by not being upset by that at all. Jesus, he was going to become the non-dominant hand in this relationship, and he was totally cool with the idea of being Ryan’s bottom bitch, fucking christ.

“Dinner?” Ryan offered at the end of the lesson, toweling off his face. “There’s this seafood place down on 32nd. They’re lighting up the giant Christmas tree tonight just down the road. Would you like to go?”

Brendon tried to smirk, but it came out genuine, and he was really losing his grip on this shit. He needed to act fast. He needed to put some distance between them. “I’d love to,” he said. “But I’ve got this paper to write and my roommate is going through some shit.” He hadn’t talked much to Greta since the first interrogation. “Why don’t we shoot for something this weekend?”

Ryan’s face fell. “I-I have a deadline to meet this weekend. I don’t think I’ll have much time for even eating.”

“Oh.” Brendon looked away, thinking. “Uh, Monday?”

Ryan shook his head. “Three finals.”

Brendon bit his lip. “Then, uh… I guess yoga.”

Ryan nodded, looking horribly upset. Like, way more than Brendon had ever expected.

“Dude, you okay?” Brendon asked insensitively.

Ryan shrugged with a sigh. “Fuck, I don’t know,” he said. “I just like hanging out with you. You’re fun and you don’t make me feel like there are all these expectations for me and you’re nice and smoking hot and I just really like you? I mean, it’s great. Hanging out with you. Dates are actually exciting and shit, and you’re really smart and you get along with Spencer, a-and you make me feel like I’m an interest to you without being obsessive.” He grimaced. “I hate obsessive. I feel so lucky to have fans and stuff, but I’m fucking reclusive. I don’t want or need more than, like, five people in my life.”  “Do you want me to be one of those five?” Brendon asked without thinking. Stupid question, Brendon. Dumb fucking question.

Ryan grinned and shrugged. “Maybe.”

Brendon wanted to throw his fist in the air like he had before, but that would be too tacky. “Then don’t worry about us being apart for a few days,” he said. “We’ll be fine, dude. It’s not like we’re not adults. Just shoot me a text every now and again, and we’ll both be fine.”

. . .

Brendon was not fucking fine.

In fact, he was the furthest thing from fine.

It wasn’t like a drug addict going through withdrawals or anything, but mother of god, he was bored. He was just so bored. 

Dancing only interested him for, like, fifteen minutes, thirty at the most. Outlast was boring, Fallout was boring, Shadow of the fucking Colossus was boring. 

Hell, Greta was boring.

All she did was interrogate him about Ryan. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t told Brendon about Ryan being her favorite fucking author, just got all tight lipped and left the apartment for hours, doing god knows what, god knows where.

Now he was just lying on the couch, bored out of his god damn mind.

Brendon went through his list of things he would usually do when he was bored. He could memorize some stupid monologue and scream it to the ceiling, he could learn a new song on the guitar, he could cook, clean, crash someone’s event.

Or he could just masturbate.

Brendon tried to think of something better than masturbating, then kinda shrugged to himself when he couldn’t think of anything, and got up, grabbed his laptop, then some lotion, and then settled himself back on the couch and tossed his pants off, then his shirt.

The best part about being home alone was masturbating naked.

Brendon hummed softly to himself and starting surfing his favorite porn site for something that fit his taste. Much to his chagrin, the usual shit just wasn’t peaking his interest. DP, tribbing, pussy eating, none of that shit was working for him, not even a lesbian daisy chain he stumbled upon. Brendon was starting to get a little pissed.

Then, while browsing a page for the three-way tag, he came upon these two girls getting all up on this guy, but the guy…

Brendon quickly changed his search.

_man, brunet, skinny, bottom_

Brendon’s face was burning as he scrolled through the videos, loathing how his cursor would linger over a video that was close enough to Ryan to make his heart race and his dick do shit that Brendon was all sorts of pissed about. He really wasn’t supposed be falling for this guy, and his dick wasn’t supposed to seek him out even more.

Brendon stared at one of the videos before finally clicking. The guy was being fucked by some huge furry dude, and the smaller man wasn’t nearly as pretty as Ryan. But his hair was curly and nearly down to his shoulders and he really was skinny. If Brendon squinted and muted the whole video and ignored the guy pegging the kid with a cock so fucking huge that it was almost abusive, then he could pretend he was watching Ryan… get…

Pegged by a cock so fucking huge that it was almost abusive.

Brendon couldn’t watch this.

He pushed the laptop away after shutting the lid and stared at the ceiling. He could do this the old fashioned way; he knew what he was doing.

Brendon pursed his lips as he tried to think up something that could keep this fucking stubborn as boner of his squirmed his hips on the couch. Using his imagination was hard now that his mind had grown accustom and become dulled to creativity by the plethora of free porn on the web. But he could do this.

Brendon shut his eyes and tilted his head back even further, trying to get comfortable. He ran his hands up and down his body, just warming up for the show and keeping himself interested.

Then he pictured Ryan.

Beautiful, sexy Ryan.

They were in yoga. It was apparently a private session, because it was just Brendon and the other man. Brendon knew how amazingly flexible Ryan was, he’d seen that guy get into the craziest yoga poses, like this one where Ryan held himself up with his two hands, made his torso parallel to the ground, straightened his leg to the left in midair, then bend his right leg and pointed his knee to the ceiling.

He’d held that pose for five fucking minutes.

Brendon kinda wanted to see if he could fold Ryan in half, get Ryan’s knees to his head. He met he could, Brendon would bet he could twist Ryan’s body in all these insane ways, bend him in half and fuck him into the yoga mat.

Except, he kinda didn’t like that idea.

Brendon frowned to himself.

He started to think about something else. The idea of fucking in public had always entertained him, so Brendon pictured himself hold Ryan down in the dirt of paint ball and slamming into him, listening to the other man cry out and beg for more.

But jesus christ, Brendon didn’t really like that idea either.

Tentatively (and nervously), he imagined lying in bed with Ryan, holding him, sliding inside carefully and making sure Ryan came first.

Brendon’s cock twitched in interest and he freaked out.

. . .

“You’re doing great,” Greta told him the next day, grinning. “You’re gonna be with him and make him like you and shit. Get to know him, yeah? Like, really get to know him. Make him worry about you. Make him want to be around you always. Then tear his fucking heart out, like he tore out mine.”

. . .

Tuesday didn’t come soon enough, and Brendon went to class early, intending to talk to Ryan or something, hug him or kiss him or whatever. But when he got there and saw Ryan, Brendon’s mind fumbled to a halt and he stood there, looking stupid. Ryan noticed him and perked up, striding over. 

“Hey,” Ryan greeted, eyes bright and happy and so achingly beautiful. “I’ve missed you. How was the thing? The paper? How’d that go?”

“Fine,” Brendon choked out. His voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat to cover it up. “It, it was fine. How were your finals?”

Ryan shrugged. “Could’ve gone a lot better. I’d meant to study a few days before, but just got so distracted by a certain someone.” Ryan winked playfully and Brendon realized that he love being flirted with. “So, you’re here early. Any reason why?”   
Brendon thought about lying, he really did. He couldn’t let on how much he wanted to be around Ryan, and definitely didn’t want to come off as some fucking girly dude who went around with a longing expression, being all angst-filled for the boy of her metaphorical dreams that just so happened to teach yoga. But Ryan had been honest with him. 

“Just wanted to see you,” Brendon sighed. He was almost disappointed in himself, but the shame was well worth it when he saw Ryan’s face light up.

“Really?” Ryan asked.

Brendon nodded, pulling on a frown. “Is that a big deal to you?”

Ryan looked past Brendon’s shoulder and shrugged, still smiling. “Nah, I mean. My last boyfriend didn’t really care that much when it came to me being around. He was nice when I was there, but he didn’t care if I wasn’t. Same with the guy before that.” Ryan paused. “And… and the guy before that.”

Brendon was confused.

“You’re gay?” he asked.

Ryan looked to him incredulously. 

“Like, for real?” Brendon pressed.

“Are you a man?” Ryan asked with a sort of nervous smile. “Because I was under the impression my boyfriend has a dick.” He shook his head, chuckling. “I’m gay, Brendon. Aren’t you?”

“Are you out?” Brendon continued to ask, because the details of his plan were falling apart.

“I mean, not officially,” Ryan said. “But I’m not in the closet. I don’t believe in announcing that shit to the world. If we want it to be normal, then we have to act like it’s normal.”

Brendon kinda stared a bit, then nodded slowly. “So, you’re gay. And you’re out.”

“Kinda,” Ryan reminded him with a confused grin.

“Kinda,” Brendon repeated.

He had some shit to ask Greta.

. . .

“Ryan’s only had boyfriends and he isn’t in the closet,” Brendon told Greta carefully after yoga. Ryan had had a class to go to after yoga, so there wasn’t a date tonight.

“He’s lying,” Greta replied instantaneously. 

Brendon paused, then nodded. “Oh. Okay.” He sighed. “Sorry.”

“Do you not trust me?” Greta asked sadly. “Do you trust him over me?”

“No, I don’t,” BRendon sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’m just… confused.”

Greta nodded and sat beside him on the couch. “You’re not falling for him,” she told him like it was an order. “You’re not. He’s mean. He’s manipulative. And he’s very cruel. So you’re not falling for him. Whatever’s going on in your head is what he did to me to make me want him more and fall for his lies more easily. But you’re not falling for him.”

Brendon nodded. “I’m not falling for him.”

He wished he wasn’t lying to her.

. . .

 

The next day, Brendon showed up at Ryan’s house, just to talk. He had to figure out how to slow things down between them. He was fucking this whole thing up and wasn’t even sure if he was going to be able to end it between them on Christmas Eve, which would just be shit. Absolute shit. He’d lose Greta, he knew it. He probably deserved to lose her if he was with the man who totally cheated on her. Jesus, Brendon felt like a piece of shit for doing this, he really did. Ryan was an asshole, right? He had to be. Greta had never lied to him.

Spencer opened the door after Brendon knocked and smirked. “What’s up?”

“Is Ryan here?” Brendon asked, steeling himself for a painful conversation.

Spencer nodded. “Hey, uh, I-I didn’t want to mention this before, but do you and I… Have we met?” He stepped aside to let Brendon in. “I swear to god I know you from somewhere. Have you taken any law courses? Maybe a mandatory psych class?”

“I took sociology,” Brendon said. “I’m pretty sure you and I have never met.”

Spencer pursed his lips. “You sure?”

“Positive,” Brendon chuckled.

“Okay,” Spencer sighed. “Well, he’s in his room. Don’t bother knocking, he won’t hear you.”

Brendon frowned, but went down the hall and didn’t knock, just opened the door. He’d heard music as he’d been walking down towards the door, but had just figured Ryan was listening to music.

He froze when he saw that Ryan was bent over a guitar with headphones covered his ears, chords flying from his fingers, and a joint dangling between his lips.

Brendon’s heart stuttered. “I love you,” he said.

Ryan’s head snapped up and he smiled wide when he saw Brendon before pulling off his headphones. “Hey!” he greeted excitedly. Brendon was amazed by the way that the joint bobbed between Ryan’s lips, but never fell. “I, uh, I didn’t hear you come in. What’d you say? I heard you say something.”

“I’m in love with you,” Brendon repeated. Ryan had a god damn guitar. Brendon was weak.

The joint fell from Ryan’s lips to the floor.

“Shit,” Brendon mumbled, moving forward to pick the joint up before something stupid happened. Something more stupid than what Brendon had just said. He was on his knees in front of Ryan, and when he lifted his head, he was staring straight into Ryan’s eyes. And Ryan was staring back with this expression Brendon couldn’t read because he was too busy memorizing how Ryan’s long lashes brushed his skin when he blinked. His lips were so pink that Brendon could swear he was coloring them with something, and god, Brendon just wanted to kiss his nose. He wanted to kiss Ryan’s nose with his lips and his nose and give him cute little eskimo kisses and hold him in bed and watch rain and snow and sun and protect each other from the cold.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered, because nothing else seemed good enough to translate to Ryan what he was feeling and thinking. “I really am, Ryan. It’s been only a little more than a week, and I know it’s dumb, but I’ve read books where people just fall in love inexplicably because they just click, you know? I just want to be with you. You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. You’re smart and you’re nice and you’re fun and spontaneous and you don’t make me feel like I have to meet any crazy expectations. When I’m with you, I have fun, and that’s it. I have so much fun. And I want to kiss you and be happy with you, and the thought of having that with you is so god damn amazing, okay? So, I’m in love with you. Sorry this is happening so soon.”

Ryan smiled a bit. “Really?”

Brendon nodded. 

Ryan bit his lip before leaning in to press their lips together. “I-I can’t say it back,” he confessed. “Not yet. But the attraction is here, Brendon. I understand everything you’ve said and I-I can relate to all of it. Jesus, if you stay with me? I promise, it’ll only be a matter of time before I can say it back.”

Brendon nodded. “I-I understand,” he breathed, leaning in for another kiss. “I get it. I’m weird.”

“No, not weird,” Ryan denied, shaking his head and carefully setting the guitar aside. He took the joint from Brendon’s hand and put it into Brendon’s mouth. “Here, here, smoke this.”

Brendon snorted, but took a drag obediently. He sat back on his haunches, looking up at Ryan was mild interest.

“You’re not weird, Brendon,” Ryan said softly. “I mean, I know you think it’s weird to fall in love this early, a-and it definitely isn’t conventional, but it isn’t wrong. You have your reasons and they’re not sordid or unsavory. You don’t want me for sex or my money or fame or anything, you know? You just kinda want me for me and that’s…” He smiled to himself. “That’s kinda amazing.”

Brendon wondered if this was real. He’d confessed being in love with this guy after a little over a week and Ryan wasn’t freaking out. Jesus, what, how the hell was Brendon supposed to break his heart now?

“I can’t say it back yet,” Ryan murmured, scooting back on the bed and pulling Brendon with him. “But I can give you something else…”

Brendon’s brow shot up with his dick when Ryan looked to him with devious intent. Ryan reached down and worked at Brendon’s belt after pulling Brendon forward to straddle Ryan’s waist. Brendon really, really couldn’t believe this was happening now.

Ryan surged upwards to kiss Brendon, and Brendon’s brain came to a halt only to set off some god damn fireworks when Ryan shuddered softly as Brendon dominated the kiss. Holy christ, was he sensitive or something? Brendon dragged his hand down Ryan’s side and onto his thigh, slipping his hand between Ryan’s legs, then felt a thrill go through him when Ryan let out a soft noise of pleasure just from that tiny touch. He was so fucking sensitive.

Oh, he was going to have so much fun with this boy.

No homo, though.

. . .

A little less than two weeks later, and Ryan was wondering what he hadn’t gone to Brendon’s house. It was only a week to Christmas and it looked like they’d be spending it together, or at least, Ryan intended for them to. But Brendon didn’t know how he was going to ditch Greta. He loved the girl— he’d die for her— but she was so erratic now, manic and almost psychotic about Ryan. Brendon found himself defending Ryan and he could tell it was really upsetting her. How was she supposed to tell her he was in love with this asshole? He hadn’t noticed Ryan doing anything that would make it easier to believe what Greta had told him. 

Brendon couldn’t explain it. Ryan wasn’t an asshole and he didn’t cheat and he was already (kinda) out, so what was Brendon supposed to think? He knew Greta wouldn’t lie to him. He knew and trusted Greta and trusted her when she said Ryan had cheated on her, but Brendon also believed what he’d observed and just couldn’t see Ryan doing something like that.

But Greta swore on her life.

And Brendon would always believe Greta over anyone.

. . .

 _“Jon is having his girl over and I don’t wanna disrupt him,”_ Ryan told Brendon over the phone. _“I mean, I-I know it’s a lot to ask, but…”_

“No, it’s fine,” Brendon sighed, looking around the apartment. He could totally figure out how to get Greta out of the house, he just needed to take down some photos and lock the door to Greta’s room. He took stock of all the decorations and tried to remember if he’d ever told Ryan if he even had a female roommate.

 _“A-are you sure?”_ Ryan asked.

“You have to get work done, right?” Brendon walked around the apartment to find out what else he’d have to hide. “And Jon’s just gonna have loud, annoying sex with that shriek-y girlfriend of his. Seriously, she sounds like some manatee get chased or whatever. It’s pretty fucking annoying.”

 _“Don’t be an ass,”_ Ryan chuckled. _“Is it really okay that I come over tonight?”_

“Absolutely,” Brendon assured him. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” Then, he thoughtlessly added, “love you.”

When Ryan hung up without saying it back, Brendon’s heart sunk a little, and he knew it was entirely his own fault.

. . .

“Nice place,” Ryan said with a grin as he looked around. “Kinda girly.”

Brendon wasn’t sure what he meant until he saw that they had a Hello Kitty pillow on the sofa. Worst part, it was totally Brendon’s pillow. Jesus christ.

“That’s mine,” Brendon chuckled. “But, I, uh, I have a roommate.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ryan asked, stepping further inside the apartment, smiling idly as he looked around. “Is that why I’ve never been here before? Are they, like, super anal about guests or something?”

“She doesn’t care that much about guests,” Brendon said. 

Ryan nodded. Brendon was kinda relieved to see he wasn’t phased about how Brendon’s roommate was a girl. Then again, Brendon was supposed to be gay, so why would Ryan be worried about Brendon sleeping in the same place as a girl?

“Will she be home tonight?”

“No,” Brendon denied immediately. He’d bribed Greta out of the house with half a dozen cupcakes and thirty bucks. Of course, he’d spent an hour trying to convince her that he wasn’t with Ryan for Ryan and that he was still gonna drop his ass at Christmas and jesus, Brendon was getting a little annoyed.

“I’m gonna make pancakes,” Brendon told him, wanting to be a good host, but he couldn’t make much else. Well, he couldn’t make any other food that would be tasty enough for him to serve Ryan. He didn’t want to serve him anything shitty. “You wanna go to my room or just the sofa or something?”

“Sofa,” Ryan chuckled. “I’ll just end up starting something if I’m in bed with you.”

Brendon flushed and tried not to be slightly disappointed that Ryan _wasn’t_ going to start something. Because sex? Sex was awesome, it was always awesome, but sex with Ryan was kinda the best sex, and Brendon knew that was so fucking gay to say. 

Brendon wasn’t gay. 

Ryan…

Ryan was just special.

“Pancakes sound awesome,” Ryan said as he sat down and set up his laptop. “I haven’t eaten in a day, I think.” Ryan chuckled again, though this time, it sounded a bit more tight. “I tend to forget to take care of myself when I’m working. It’s pretty stupid.”

“You’re talented and passionate,” Brendon said as he started mixing the pancake batter. “You’ve got a lot on your mind. You just need to work fast enough to get it all on the page. That’s all it is.”

“What are these photos?”

Brendon faltered, not sure what Ryan was talking about, though something in his chest clenched and he was ready to fear the worst. Brendon cautiously approached the back of the couch, looking over Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan was holding the selfies in his hands.

Brendon wasn’t even sure how he’d found those.

Jesus, jesus, weren’t those on Greta’s phone? On the internet? Brendon stared at the photos that were printed on flimsy printer paper, the ink obviously running low with how lines were cutting through the images. But there were still easily discernible. Fuck, Brendon was in so much trouble.

“Let me explain,” he sighed, wondering why Greta would print those and put them on the god damn coffee table of all places.

“W-who is this girl?”

Brendon paused. “… What?”

“Who is this?” Ryan asked again. His voice was trembling like his hands. “What is she doing in my car?” He looked to the next picture, the one with him in line. “When, when were these taken? Who is this, Brendon? Why are they in your house?” Ryan looked to the last picture, where Greta was in Ryan’s bed. “… O-oh god, who is she?”

“Are you serious?” Brendon asked.

Ryan turned to face Brendon with tears streaming brimming in his eyes and absolute horror on his face. “Who the fuck is this girl, Brendon?”

Holy shit.

Greta had been lying.


	2. On the Second Day of Christmas, His Stomach Filled With Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greta is kinda a freak and Ryan's freaking out and Brendon's just lucky he's not in jail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thank my lucky stars that zombies aren't track runners after death

“How can you not know her?”

Brendon looked between Ryan and the photos, trying to get his mind to catch up with what he really didn’t want to know. The photos were in Ryan’s shaking hands, and Ryan didn’t know who Greta was. Honestly and completely didn’t know. Ryan didn’t know who Greta was and Brendon didn’t know why Greta would lie to him about this.

“Who is this, Brendon?” Ryan demanded, voice tinged with hysteria. “Why is she in my car? Fuck, why is she in my bed?! And why are these pictures in your apartment?!”

“That’s Greta,” Brendon told him uselessly, his fingers fumbling as he reached for the photos. “Greta Salpeter. She, she was your girlfriend. You dated for four months.” He hesitated, not knowing what to believe anymore. “… Didn’t you?”

“I’ve never even seen this girl!” Ryan cried out. “I, I have no idea who she is? What the hell, Brendon? W-why would you do this to me? How could you do this to me?” He stood, the photos dropping from his hands. “Who the fuck is she and how do you know her, a-and _why was she in my bed_?!”

Brendon’s hands fumbled in the air as he continued to struggle to catch up. “Ryan, I…” But he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I-I can’t,” Ryan choked out. He grabbed his things and started walking towards the door. “I-I’m going to call the police.”

“No, don’t!” Brendon cried out, grabbing Ryan by the upper arm. But that was the wrong move, because the second Brendon hindered Ryan’s ability to leave, Ryan flinched and ducked his head, freezing. 

Brendon let him go, not liking how Ryan basically went limp.

“She—” 

Brendon cut himself off, not knowing how he was going to explain this. “Fuck, look,” he sighed. “Just, she’s my friend, okay? She’s my friend and my roommate. I’ve known her all my life. She, sh-she told me you guys dated for four months, and that’s how she got the pictures.” Brendon still couldn’t understand that Greta apparently hadn’t dated Ryan? “She said you cheated on her, so she wanted me to date you a-and then break up with you.”

Ryan looked up at him with tearful eyes. “Y-you don’t actually love me?”

Brendon’s stomach dropped.

Oh fuck.

“N-no, no no no,” he choked out, shaking his head vigorously. “Fuck, Ryan, I-I didn’t think you’d be so amazing! I agreed to this at, like, the beginning of December! But now? God damn, Ryan, y-you’re so beautiful and kind and funny and a fucking genius and I just… I-I am in love with you. It was everything else that didn’t add up. But, I want to be with you now.”

“Now,” Ryan repeated with a wretched expression. “H-how could you do this to me, Brendon? To us?” He stumbled back, shaking his head. “I have to go,” he said. And after a pause, “I-I won’t call the cops. _Yet._ You, you’re going to come over tomorrow and tell me who the fuck this girl is and w-why she was in my bed. Do you hear me? Or I’m sending both of you to f-fucking jail.”

Brendon nodded, because that was understandable, no matter how much it hurt. Brendon was lucky he hadn’t gotten punched in the mouth.

“I-I thought you were a good guy,” Ryan whispered as he walked out the door.

Oh. 

Jesus Christ, that stung.

Brendon looked down at the table and wondered if he’d always been the bad guy in the first place.

. . .

“Why so glum, baby?” Greta asked when she came home with bags from Victoria’s Secret and Sephora. Brendon was sitting at the table, staring at the photos Greta had printed out. When Greta saw what he was doing, she dropped the smile.

“What are these doing out?” Brendon asked in a low voice.

“I, I just… Wanted to print them.”

Oh god, Brendon couldn't hear a single lie in her voice. Was he that bad at reading people?

“Is there a problem?” Greta asked.

Brendon paused. “No,” he finally said. “No, there isn’t. He, he didn’t notice. So you lucked out.”

She snorted. “So, why'd you look so pissed? Was it the photos, or did he break your heart like he broke mine?”

Brendon smiled wryly. “Something like that.”

“You can make it,” she assured him.”You’re my savior for doing this, B. Thank you so much.” She bent over the couch and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

Brendon didn’t respond, gathered the pictures, and went to his room.

. . .

“Her name is Greta,” Brendon told Ryan _and_ Spencer _and_ Jon across the table. He knew Ryan had brought them because he didn’t feel safe. Brendon didn’t blame him for not feeling safe. If he’d been dating someone who had pictures of a stranger in bed with him on their coffee table, Brendon would be asking the god damn police to accompany him the whole time, even the fucking S.W.A.T. team. “She’s my roommate and I’ve known her my whole life. I, I don’t know how she got those photos. She told me you’d dated her for four months, Ryan. I thought they were just normal pictures.”

“And the fact that he’s looking away from the camera in every single one?” Spencer queried with a hostile look in his eyes. 

“I just thought Ryan was camera shy,” Brendon sighed.

“You fake dated him?” Jon asked. “To break up with him? To hurt him?” Jon scoffed, shaking his head. This was the first time Brendon had actually ever really talked to Jon. Kinda sucked that it was going down like this. “You’re probably the most fucked up person I’ve ever met, and I’ve met Ryan’s dad. Like, that’s fucking saying something.”

“I trusted you,” Ryan actually whimpered. Brendon’s heart wrenched in his chest in a way that was fucking biblical, jesus. Brendon couldn’t breathe for a second. He hated himself for falling in love, but hated himself even more for doing this to Ryan, or even anyone. Jon was right. What the fuck was wrong with Brendon? How could he do something so calloused and cruel? It was borderline insanity, manic revenge with a side of jesus fucking christ. Brendon was tempted to check himself in for therapy or even institution, because this was fucked up. He needed to be medicated and strapped to a bed and never be allowed to see the light of day for putting that expression on Ryan’s face.

“I’m so sorry, Ryan,” was all Brendon could say.

Ryan looked away.

“Brendon, your friend is fucking stalking Ryan,” Spencer said with narrowed eyes. “I’m studying to be a lawyer, remember? I could have her locked up. So you’re going to give me one good reason as to why I shouldn’t.”

“She, she’s not a threat!” Brendon insisted a little desperately. He didn’t want Greta put in jail. “She’s totally harmless, she can’t hurt anyone!”

 _“She’s in Ryan’s fucking bed when he’s asleep!”_ Jon shouted.

Brendon flinched and so did Ryan and nearly everyone in the sandwich joint looked to them with faces full of shock and horror. Brendon couldn’t accept any of this because he knew Greta, he fucking knew her and he knew she would never hurt anyone. Greta would never hurt anyone.

“She, she obviously is there for a reason,” Brendon fumbled to explain. “Maybe Ryan got drunk and took her home?” He’d given up on believing that Greta and Ryan had dated. Now he was just trying to understand how she’d gotten those photos. How’d she even get in his car? Ryan locked and checked, double checked, triple checked all his doors like someone with OCD. “Maybe Ryan picked her up and that’s how she got in his house.”

“Ryan’s dad was an alcoholic,” Spencer told Brendon with a scowl. “He won’t go within ten feet of that shit.”

“Okay, shit,” Brendon choked out, running low on ideas. “She, she’s just a girl, okay? She plays music and doesn’t care about school and she falls in love hard and fast.”

“What, like you?” Jon shot back.

Brendon flinched. He should’ve known Ryan was going to tell them about Brendon’s confession. He should’ve known Ryan was going to tell them everything. “Greta wouldn’t ever hurt anyone.” Brendon was repeating that phrase over and over and fucking over in his head. He was terrified to be wrong about it.

“She’s fucking crazy,” Jon bit out. 

Ryan got up. He’d been oddly quiet for most of the exchange and now seemed to want it over.

“Ry?” Brendon called out cautiously. He didn’t want Ryan to leave. He had a sneaking suspicion that Brendon would never see him again if he left.

“She’s dangerous, Brendon,” Ryan said softly. “… And so are you.”

Ryan left the store, his back to Brendon, and Brendon felt like dying.

. . .

Brendon put on this act.

This charade.

This fucking play, this grand set up that he created to avoid telling Greta what had happened and how Ryan knew, because Brendon was scared of her.

He was fucking scared of her.

He was scared of his best friend.

Brendon didn’t know what to do.

. . .

“Wait, so, she didn’t date Ryan?” Pete asked over pizza a few nights later. “But I thought she did. She totally had those photos, I liked all of them on Instagram.”

“Faked,” Brendon mumbled, watching some chic get fucking slaughter by Jason in space on the TV screen. “She snuck into his car. His house. She took all of them without Ryan knowing.”

Pete gaped.

“She’s fucking crazy!” he gasped.

Brendon looked away, unable to give Pete a definite opinion or answer. He didn’t know what to think anymore.

“Jesus, B, you, run.” Pete was shaking his head as he ate. “Fucking run. Come live with me and Andy. I’m serious. I don’t want you around her. Not right now. She could actually be fucking psycho.”

“Greta isn’t crazy,” he mumbled.

“Didn’t two of her boyfriends die?”

Brendon became very still.

Pete was quiet for a moment. “… You’re coming to stay with me. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Brendon nodded, feeling oddly cold.

“… Is Greta crazy?” he asked in a tiny voice.

Pete didn’t answer. “I’m bringing you home with me from here. Just pack a bag and say you’re going on a camping trip with me or something. I’ll make up the couch and sleep on that instead of you. Patrick won’t mind, he always ends up lying on top of me anyways. You’ll stay with me and we’ll figure this out.”

Brendon nodded. He stared at the pizza and wondered if he had room for it in his fridge. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

. . .

“Thanks for this,” Brendon told Andy and Pete. “I’m gonna take the couch, okay? And I know, I know,” and Brendon had his hands in the air to shut Pete up before he could say anything. “I know you said you would take the couch, but you’re packing for two, dude. Patrick’s short, but he’s a starfish. He can’t fit on that sofa with you and you know it.”

Pete grimaced. “I’ll make you nachos to apologize.”

“With cherry peppers?” Brendon asked, full of hope. “And, and four different types of cheese?”

“You fucking nutball,” Pete giggled.

“I’ve only got three cheeses in the fridge!” Andy protested.    
“Oh my god, no!” Brendon wailed, needing this friendly banter. “No, no, no! You can’t do this to me, you meanie! I wanted four cheeses, not three. You’re such a butt. You guys are all butts. You’re butts with nice butts. Very nice butts, you know? So, how about you let me cop a feel and I’ll just forget you only have three cheeses, cool?”

“You ain’t touching these goods,” Pete snorted.

“Are you kidding, I’m in a dry spell,” Andy said with a chuckle. “Go for it, Brendon. I need new wanking material that isn’t behind a computer screen.”

“Oh jesus, never mind,” Brendon laughed. “Sorry, Andy, but I don’t swing that way.”

Pete and Andy both was quiet before they both busted a gut. Like, full on, heart stopping laughter that became cackling and downright wheezing every now and again. Brendon frowned and looked between them again with a confused expression. 

“Why are we laughing?” he asked.

“You say you’re not gay!” Pete guffawed. “Oh my god! That, that’s too—! Holy shit! Jesus f-fuck!”

“I can’t breathe!” Andy half sobbed, half laughed. “I, I can’t breathe!”

Brendon stuck out his lower lip in a pout.

“Dude, dude,” Pete gasped, moving forward and holding Brendon’s shoulders. “You’re gay. You’re so gay.” He lifted his hands to hold Brendon’s face next. “You’re so gay that you can sprout flowers made of condoms from your nipples.” He held Brendon’s face tighter, shaking him a bit. “You’re so gay that lipstick talks about wanting to be on your lips to get more dick.”

“You’re so gay,” Andy choked out through his laughter. “You’re so gay that there’s a sign up sheet to get in your ass!”

“I’m not that easy,” Brendon replied sullenly.

“The fact that the only thing you you protested out of all of that was being easy means that you already know what we’re saying is true,” Pete said with a sagely expression and a slow nod.

Brendon snorted. “Dude, I’m really not gay.”

“But wait, who was that person who texted me at three AM talking about a kiss in a car?” Pete asked with a sort of rhetoric. “And who told me all about how he couldn’t use a certain man’s image in porn without feeling nasty? And who detailed a sordid night between the streets with another man to me?”

Brendon hesitated, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “Look, Pete…” He trailed off with a sigh. “Ryan and I? We’re over.”

Pete’s face fell. “I’m guessing he didn’t take the photos well.”

“Would you?”   
Pete shrugged, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, B.”

Brendon looked away. “I’d rather not talk about that right now.”

“Of course,” Pete sighed. “Patrick will be home soon. He had to finish up at the clinic, but he’ll bring home fried chicken, so I’m willing to forgive him.”

“No nachos?”

Pete snorted. “How could I forget?”

Brendon dropped onto the couch and tried to forget Ryan, because it hurt too much to remember.

. . .

Brendon lied on the sofa and stared at the artificial light of his phone. He had the messaging app open and was rereading Ryan’s contact name over and over, looking at the last message he’d received. 

_toms sandwich shoppe @ 2 i have spence and jon_

Brendon swallowed hard and tried not to think about Ryan for too long, but he’d been doing that all night and it was useless. He had four unread messages from Greta, all of them stupid jokes and memes that she would send him when she was bored and wanted attention. Brendon wondered if Greta really was he person he’d grown up with. He wondered if she was actually dangerous. Brendon wondered if he would ever trust her again, and if he should have trusted her in the first place.

Brendon was wondering a lot of things that night.

Patrick wandered into the kitchen sometime early in the morning, only a few hours before the sunrise. He walked past the couch again while heading back to the room he shared with Pete, but stopped. Brendon shut off the light of his phone just because it seemed polite.

“Heard you told Ryan you love him,” Patrick said. “Then that Greta’s some sort of psycho stalker?” He sighed softly, though it was still loud enough for Brendon to hear. “Shitty hand, man. The guy you fall in love with is pissed at you for having a psycho best friend. Is this the first time you’ve ever been in love with someone?”

Brendon grimaced. “No,” he admitted. “But it’s the first time it’s lasted more than a few hours. And the first time it’s hurt this much.”

Patrick nodded. He reached over the couch and rested a hand on Brendon’s shoulder. “If it gets better, it’ll get better. That’s all there is to that. If Ryan and you don’t get over this and end happily, then it wasn’t meant to be.”

“What about Greta?”

Patrick was quiet for a moment. “… Brendon, there was always something wrong with her.”

Brendon shut his eyes against what he was feeling. “She’s a good person.”

“Didn’t two of her boyfriends die?”

Brendon clutched to his phone tight enough to feel like he was bruising his inner hand. “I’m gonna go to sleep,” he choked out. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Brendon,” Patrick said. Then he walked away.

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend it didn’t hurt.

. . .

Brendon was going to pick up some pizza when he ran into Greta.

“Hey,” she greeted with a completely blank expression.

Her lack of expression was putting Brendon on edge.

“Hey,” he replied, tense and on his toes. He’d been thinking since Patrick had talked to him on the couch, two days ago. 

He was afraid of her.

Brendon was fucking afraid of his best friend.

“Where have you been?” Greta asked, her voice cold.

Brendon shrugged. “Just, you know. Places.”

Greta stared through him. “How’s Ryan?”

Brendon shrugged again. “He’s good, you know? He’s good. Getting his book done.”

“Seen him recently?”

Brendon nodded. “Went on a date last night.”

Greta finally smiled, and it was fake. “Liar.”   
Brendon flinched. “What?”

“You weren’t on a date,” she said almost confidently. “You weren’t anywhere near Ryan. He was home alone, though Spencer had promised to be back in an hour. He made himself a burrito for dinner and sprayed cheese whizz on them, then had three cups of coffee and cried in front of his computer.” She shook his head, appearing sad. But only appearing. “Did you break his heart, Brendon? You were a little early.”

Brendon was pale with horror.

“Don’t you dare touch him,” was all he could choke out. He couldn’t breathe past the idea of Greta hurting Ryan, he couldn’t stand the idea of someone he thought he loved hurting the person he really, truly, so fucking much did love. Brendon couldn’t stomach the idea of Greta laying a hand on Ryan. He would kill her. Or try. 

God, Brendon didn’t know what he would do, but he’d make it hurt. He’d hurt Greta so she could never touch Ryan again. He would do something so fucking horrible and evil that he’d be sent to jail and he would never, ever regret it. 

But Brendon would only do it to protect Ryan.

“If you touch him, I’m going to break you,” Brendon told Greta, practically bristling with anger. “I’ll get Pete and Andy and Joe and we’ll tear you apart. We’ll get Spencer and Jon too. You’ll be thrown away, in jail, prison, or worse. We’ll fucking murder you.”

Greta met his eyes with a coldness Brendon didn’t think a person was capable of wearing. “Ryan broke my heart. Now I’m going to break him.”

Greta turned around and strode away, gone before Brendon could say anything more.

Brendon felt ill and went to find Pete.

. . .

“She said what?” Pete asked, alarmed and already reaching for his phone.

“We can’t call the cops,” Joe cut in. “That’ll get Brendon in trouble.”

“I don’t care if I’m in trouble,” Brendon whimpered, sounding wrecked. “She’s fucking crazy! She could kill him!”

“She won’t,” Andy cut in. “She, she can’t. Right?”

“Two of her past boyfriends have died,” Joe reminded him.

“Jesus,” Andy breathed. “Did she do that?”

Brendon shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“I’m starting to think she did,” Pete murmured.

“There’s no evidence,” Brendon whimpered.

“Doesn’t matter if there’s evidence or not,” Patrick said as he walked into the threshold. “Ryan’s in danger. That’s why I’ve brought Spencer and Jon.”

Brendon looked to the door, shocked. Patrick had, indeed, brought Spencer and Jon. They were standing just behind Patrick. Brendon wondered if any of them had family to see for Christmas. They were three days away from the holiday. He wondered if all they had was each other.

“I should fucking castrate you, Brendon,” was the first thing Jon said.

“She knew Ryan before Brendon,” Pete huffed. “Not his fault.”

“I knew I knew you from somewhere!” Spencer gasped. “Patrick has you in his phone background! Jesus, I knew I knew you.” Spencer shook his head, managing a tiny smile. “Small world.”

“Where’s Ryan?” Brendon demanded with a heartbroken edge. “Is, is he okay? How’s you been?”

“What, you haven’t been stalking him too?” Jon asked cruelly.

Brendon flinched. “I-I’d never…” He looked down at his feet. “I couldn’t do that to him. I love him.”

“Love him enough to fucking stab him in the back and tear his spirit out,” Spencer huffed. “Love him enough to actually plan to break his heart.” 

“I didn’t know I would fall for him,” Brendon choked out, hands beginning to shake. “I didn’t know what Ryan would be like, I, I just wanted to help my best friend. She’d had her heart broken. I’d thought Ryan had cheated on her! If I had known Ryan before…” 

Brendon couldn’t look anyone in the eye. What he was saying sounded so much emptier than he wished. He wanted one way to put to words how much he needed Ryan back in his life. Everything felt kinda broken and lifeless and desaturated without him. He couldn’t stand being like this, living this broken monotony that didn’t have Ryan’s smile. He just didn’t know how to tell this to the others.

“I, he’s music to me,” Brendon began shakily. “He’s inspiration, movement, just, he’s a heartbeat. I don’t find myself so bored without him. I would wake up excited for something, for him, something beyond wanting to look good and boss people around and shape a play. I actually just want him, okay? Not his body, not, not his money.” The thought of using Ryan for his money was almost sickening. “I can’t even just jack off to the idea of fucking his mouth or something, ask Pete! He was the person to kiss me first, and I just…” Brendon blushed. “I-I couldn’t get him out of my head. Still can’t. I can never forget him. Because of that one kiss.” Brendon wrung his fingers together. “… I love him, guys. And that’s it.”

Jon scowled and Spencer sighed.

“He does miss you,” Spencer told Brendon like he regretted it. “A lot.”

Brendon was torn. He was happy he was missed, but hated that he was inadvertently hurting Ryan with his absence. Jesus, was this really what love was like? It sucked.

“I hate that he doesn’t hate you,” Jon grumbled, actually sounding really upset, but only petulantly, like he was more annoyed than actually angry. “I mean, jesus, he should be cursing your name and yelling and shit. But no, instead? I have to take his phone away from him so he won’t talk to you!”

Brendon perked up. “He tries to talk to me?”

“Not the time, Brendon,” Pete advised.

“He shouldn’t!” Jon snapped. “You fucking tore his heart our and shit on it, Brendon. He trusted you. He was fucking falling for you, he couldn’t write sometimes because he was so obsessed with seeing you again. Hell, we even liked you! Spencer and I, we wanted you to be the best guy for him! And then you went and did this…”

“I didn’t know she was crazy,” Brendon said uselessly.

“You were still going to break his heart,” Spencer reminded him.

Brendon nodded, feeling like shit again.

“Is there any way that Brendon could maybe see Ryan again?” Andy asked, probably to get something out of this for Brendon. “I mean, if Ryan wants to see him too…”

“I don’t want him to see Ryan,” Jon almost snarled.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Patrick weighed in, ever the peace maker. Brendon wasn’t actually sure if Patrick was a peace maker. But he was being that now, and Brendon really did appreciate it.

“I think Ryan really should decide for that,” Pete added.

“I don’t think either of you know Ryan well enough to have any sort of say in this,” Jon replied snippily. 

“But, uh, Ryan really should decide,” Spencer admitted. “I mean, we’re kinda controlling, you know? Ryan is an adult. A grown ass man and shit. He, he should be able to decide for himself. We’re kinda just being dicks by making all these decisions for him. It, it’s almost unethical. Immoral. If he chose to take this to court, he could totally win…”

Jon scowled.

Brendon was beginning to feel hopeful that he would see Ryan again soon.

“I’ll talk to him,” Spencer promised Brendon. “I don’t like you. Like, at all.” Brendon understood why not and totally wasn’t hurt by it. “But Ryan does and he deserves something that’ll make him smile, even if I think it’s a bad idea.”

Brendon smiled shakily. “Thank you.”

Spencer didn’t answer and Jon looked like he was passing a kidney stone.

But hey, Brendon might see Ryan again.

He was fucking content.

. . .

Brendon was lying awake in bed that same night when his phone lit up in his hand. 

He stared at it for a solid ten seconds, wondering if that was really Ryan’s name he was reading across the alert, or if he was just fucking crazy. Probably just going crazy. Brendon hoped he was going crazy, because being crazy probably meant he could pretend he was in any realty that he wanted to be in.

He could pretend he was with Ryan, lying in bed beside him, laughing at some dumb joke.

He wanted that back.

He wanted that more than anything.

 _‘told 2 talk 2 u’_ ‘howre u’

_‘ive missed u’_

Brendon couldn’t breathe. This was too good to be true. He wasn’t used to Ryan’s lack of complete phrases and actually spelling out words and shit, but he was too grateful to think into it.

_‘ryan ryan i missed u 2’_

_‘im so sorry ok i never ever meant 2 hurt u like i did’_

_‘i never nu she was fcking crazy’_

_‘im so fcking sorry i love u’_

Brendon didn’t get an immediate response, and he knew he blew it.

But then his phone lit up with a cellular call and his heart raced like their first kiss.

His thumb missed the answer button four times before finally successfully receiving the call.

“Ryan!” he gasped into the microphone. “Ryan, Ryan, baby!” He faltered mentally. “… H-hi.”

Ryan was quiet for a long time.

_“… Hey.”_

Brendon shut his eyes and his heart swallowed with love at the sound of Ryan’s voice. He felt like a drowning man getting air in his lungs for the first time in years, like he’d been stuck in a purgatory that denied him air, light, touch, sensation, fucking everything. He felt alive for the first time, though he’d never realized he felt dead until now.

“How, h-how are you?” Brendon asked again, grateful to listen to Brendon breathe on the other end of the phone.

_“I’ve been better, Brendon.”_

Brendon felt sick when he heard how much pain was in Ryan’s voice.

 _“I, I still can’t believe what you did to me,”_ Ryan continued, voice cracking with something. _“I can’t believe you were going to do that to me. I can’t believe you were going to just fucking ditch me, purposefully break up with me like that to get back at me for something I didn’t do!”_ Brendon could hear that Ryan was crying. _“I don’t even know her, Ryan! I don’t know this fucking crazy bitch, and she’s in my car! My house, by bed!”_ Ryan was sobbing and Brendon was starting to cry too. _“Who is she?! What the fuck is happening to me?!”_

“I don’t know, baby,” Brendon whimpered. “I’m so sorry.”

_“D-did you ever really love me?”_

“Yes!” Brendon almost shouted, sitting up, tossing the blanket aside, too obsessed with what he was talking about with Ryan. “Yes, yes, I did, Ryan! I loved you so much more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and that’s fucking saying something. I don’t know a lot about myself or my life or fucking anything, but I know I love you. I fucking love you so much. No matter how I started, I ended with loving you more than anything.”

Ryan sniffled. _“… Thank you.”_

Brendon managed a smile.

_“I, I have to go.”_

Brendon’s smile fell.

 _“Goodbye, Brendon,”_ Ryan whispered before hanging up.

. . .

Brendon muddled through the next two days with a sort of hopeful emptiness. He’d bought all his presents. He’d helped set up the apartment with all the decorations, they’d gotten the tree and the ham and everything and now it was Christmas Eve day and Brendon was kinda pissed at himself, because he’d known Ryan for less than a month, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to spend this holiday and every other holiday after with that kid. He wanted to spend forever with him.

This wasn’t good.

Brendon was completely in love with someone who would never forgive him.

He went outside to get a last minute stocking stuffer, needing to find something simple to go in Joe’s stocking because he wasn’t a shitty friend on top of being a horrible person, god dammit.

He was walking to the strip mall when he saw Greta next to a car he knew she didn’t own and a mallet.

“What’s that for?” Brendon asked, easily slipping into their old ways of friendship, because while he was undeniably terrified of her now, she was his best, and oldest friend. 

But she didn’t smile and Brendon was becoming more scared than worried.

“I’m redoing my room,” she said. 

“Yeah?” Brendon prodded neutrally. “How so?”

She shrugged. “Just moving some things around.”

Brendon hesitated. “Are you… do you feel okay?”

She snorted. “A little late to ask.”

Brendon opened his mouth to say anything but an apology, but Greta beat him to it.

“I have to go finish and get ready for a guest,” she said. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

She was in the unfamiliar vehicle and gone by the time Brendon understood what she’d said.

. . .

Brendon had only just gotten home when his phone rang.

_“Ryan’s been missing since last night.”_

Brendon knew that Spencer understood the seriousness of that statement. Ryan was a reclusive person and would never just leave the house for no reason without telling someone, especially after what Brendon had done, and even more so now that they knew Greta was some sort of monster.

But then again…

 _“Ryan’s done this before,”_ Spencer sighed. _“I mean, only once. Twice. He ran away from home once, to get away from his dad, and then he just disappeared for a weekend our freshman year in college, so, like, it’s not that scary. But I’m still worried, you know? With Greta being out here and shit.”_

“What do you want me to do?” Brendon asked, really desperate to make some sort of peaceful bridge between the two of them. He would work on Jon once he had Spencer. Spencer was, like, the number one person in Ryan’s life, they’d known each other for years, so Brendon really needed to fix shit between him and Spencer first.

 _“I just, could you go by your old place?”_ Spencer asked with a sigh. _“Just to make sure everything’s okay. I mean, I know you’ve been staying with Pete and Greta freaks you out more than us, but, like, could you? Just this once? Pretend you’re getting some book or something. Just do me a favor and make sure Ryan isn’t tied up in some closet in there.”_

Brendon winced and tried to pretend that he wasn’t terrified of being around Greta.

But fuck, this was Greta, right? She wouldn’t hurt him. She loved him, right? She would always love him. She would never, ever hurt him.

“I can do that,” he said. “I can. I’ll go for you.”

 _“Thank you, B,”_ Spencer sighed again. _“Get back to me when you find out.”_

Brendon nodded and hung up.

Then he stared at the fridge and tried not to have an anxiety attack.

. . .

He stared at the door to what once was his apartment and tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about any of this. He once knew this girl and this apartment, and he wasn’t even sure if this was real to him. He hated that he couldn’t trust her. He hated that he couldn’t go home. Pete wanted him to officially move in, but Brendon…

He just didn’t know.

Brendon lifted his fist. 

Fuck, he had to knock to just get into his own home.

Brendon knocked.

Greta opened the door.

There was…

There was blood on her face.

A little splatter of red, just on her cheekbone.

Brendon stared between the red of the blood and the blue of her eyes. 

Greta stared back.

Then she smiled.

“You’re right on time,” she told Brendon. “I was about to break his legs. Like Stephen King suggested.”

Brendon was in so much shock that he couldn’t even put his hands up to defend himself when she brought down a fucking beer bottle on his head and he hit the floor like a fucking sack of bricks.


	3. On the Third Day of Christmas, I was Left for Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things are pretty fucked right now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean i don't think i need to warn for anything
> 
> like
> 
> wounds?
> 
> wounds i guess
> 
> it's shorter cause i didn't want to drag this into 8k.
> 
> next chapter is the last ~
> 
> and i'm sorry about any typos, i'm really good at messing up

Brendon woke up on the floor.

Just the floor.

He was in his old bedroom because he recognized this one green gelatin glob on his ceiling from when he'd had one of those plastic, gelatin hand slings that stuck to everything and you could slap it around. He’d been jumping on his bed and had smacked it on the ceiling, but had never been able to take it down. 

The rest of the room was as unfamiliar as the first day he’d moved in.

Literally, really. All of his furniture and posters and memorabilia and clothes— they were all gone. And the floor wasn’t hardwood, right? At least, not completely. Brendon turned his head as best as he could and saw he was lying on plastic sheets, all lied out like some sort of crime scene. He shuddered and shut his eyes on the headache that was slowly piercing his awareness, digging into his eyelids.

Brendon cringed and lifted his hands to press into his eyes, desperate to relieve some of the pressure. He pressed harder and harder, letting out this noise of pain that he would later deny ever having made. It was excruciating.

He moved one hand back to see what the fuck was doing this, then froze in horror when he felt a dent.

Like, an actual dent.

With blood that he could see once he pulled his hand back.

Brendon whimpered and tried not to freak out.

He was lying on the floor in his old, now empty room, with blood coming from his head and he had no idea how he got there.

“Oh god,” Brendon choked out, voice shaking as he struggled to sit up. Every limb on his body felt like death or dying or something even more awful, and he really didn’t feel okay. His stomach was churning and it swam with his head and vision with each heartbeat, which he could feel in his skull. He wasn’t sure how much blood he’d lost, but he knew it couldn’t be good if he felt this messed up.

Brendon turned to the door of his old room and reached forward, bunching plastic in between his fingers as he tried to pull himself towards the door to use the doorknob to lift himself. The knob turned in his hand, but he finally managed to stand on wobbly legs and weak knees. He leaned heavily against the door, breathing shallowly, trying to ground himself as blood slid down the side of his neck and into his shirt..

“Oh fuck,” he whimpered, beginning to tremble. He shut his eyes against the lights swirling behind his eyeballs and tried to breathe and figure out what had happened. He ran through his previous memories, through everything he remembered.

He’d gotten up, gone on a depressive run, ate breakfast, cereal, then he did some gift wrapping, some shopping maybe, he wasn’t sure, and then…

Spencer?

Shit, yeah, Spencer.

Spencer called him to ask him to check to make sure Ryan wasn’t at Brendon’s old place because Ryan was missing.

Oh sweet jesus, Ryan was missing, what was Brendon going to do? What could he do? Where the fuck was Ryan and what happened…

Oh shit, wait. Brendon _had_ gone to check it out. He’d been panicked about finding Ryan here, just like he was now, because if Ryan was here, then he was in so much trouble. Brendon wondered if Ryan had come here willingly or if Greta had forced him. Greta had opened the door and, and, and what?

What had Greta done?

Brendon dug his nails into his thighs, thinking as hard as he could, struggling to remember.

It was almost impossible, and he was going to lose his mind. It was his own fucking brain, why couldn’t he just recall this one fucking memory, he should know this, it was his own fucking memory! But it was hopeless, he couldn’t recall anything, and he wouldn’t know what had happened if it came up behind him and hit him with a—

Oh fuck.

_Oh fuck._

Greta hit him.

She’d actually hit him with something heavy over the top of his skull. That’s why he had the dent, why he was bleeding, and why he couldn’t remember anything. Shit, what if he had some sort of concussion? He was pretty sure it was physically impossible for him to _not_ have a concussion.

Brendon started to hyperventilate.

He’d thought Greta was his friend.

The door was suddenly unlocked ad opened— and Brendon hadn’t even realized it was locked— and Greta walked into the room was Brendon had fallen square on his ass. 

“Greta,” he gasped. “W-what the… what the fuck?”

Greta had a hammer in her hand and there was blood on her cheek.

“I killed a dog I found downstairs,” she told him. Brendon’s blood ran cold. “So don’t worry. It’s not Ryan’s.”

_Jesus fucking christ._

“He’s here?” Brendon asked, voice trembling. 

“I think I’m gonna break his legs for breaking up with me,” Greta told him.

Brendon shook his head and tried to sit up, then even stand up, but Greta put her foot on his shoulder and shoved him back onto the ground. His head hurt too much to fight back and he was worried he was going to throw up all over himself.

“I think I will,” Greta continued in her psychotic musing. “It’s what he deserves. What you deserve too, really. Some best friend you are. I thought I was supposed to be able to trust you, but…” Greta sighed.

“You’re crazy,” Brendon dry sobbed, barely able to breathe. “You, you’re fucking crazy.”

Greta pulled her leg back, then snapped it into Brendon’s gut.

Brendon vomited stomach acid onto the plastic and Greta’s shoe.

“Gross,” Greta said in monotone. “You threw up on me? I’m lucky I’m not wearing sandals, or anything of real value.” She kicked her foot, trying to get the vomit off. “I mean, really, Brendon? I’ve given you most of my life and this is what you do? You just throw up all over me. Fucking great, Brendon.” She shook her head. “You’re such a piece of shit. I have half a mind to just bash your fucking head in. I have to clean up your vomit anyways, might as well clean up your brains while I’m at it.”

Brendon shuddered and almost felt like he could puke again.

“I think you’re a piece of shit, you know?” Greta sighed. “I mean, Ryan’s… He broke my heart and broke me, but he’s the love of my life. I’m tired of denying that. And maybe, if you’d gone through with the plan, I would have been there as a shoulder for him to cry on and he would have fallen in love with me again.”

“Again?” Brendon repeated, shaking badly, trying to forget the taste of acid on his tongue. “He, he never loved you, you delusional bitch!”

Greta was a fucking delusional bitch.

A delusional. Fucking. Bitch.

“I’m gonna kill you if you hurt him!” Brendon shouted, going straight from fearful to completely and rationally irrational. “I’m gonna fucking tear your throat out with my god damn teeth if you touch him!”

Greta’s eyes went wide, and at first, Brendon though he’d gained the upper hand. But then she started laughing.

Brendon tried not to let himself be scared again. He kinda preferred acting confident, like he could actually hold the upper hand in some impossible possibility. 

“You think you can do anything when you’re like this,” Greta snickered, covering her mouth with her hand. “You fucking thinking you’re actually a threat to me! That, that’s so…” She giggled. “You’re cute, Brendon. You’re so cute.”

Brendon did not want to be called cute in this situation.

“Where is Ryan?” he demanded shakily.

“In my room,” Greta hummed. “I considered riding his dick, but he’s kinda hard to turn on right now, and I don’t wanna buy viagra or anything. Seems like a waste of money, you know? Though I have always imagined what being with him could be like.” She hummed and cocked her hip out. “You could tell me, right, Brendon? You could answer all my questions about what he’s like in bed.”

“I’m not saying shit,” Brendon sneered.

“Why not?” she asked with a disarming frown. It was disarming because she looked genuinely and really fucking confused as to why Brendon wouldn’t tell her anything. Brendon was still having a hard time accepting this reality. “Wouldn’t you want to brag? You always bragged about the girls you had sex with. You like bragging. You’re a bragging person, so fucking brag and tell me what Ryan’s like.”

“Just don’t fucking touching him,” he snapped. 

Greta rolled her eyes.

Brendon couldn’t respond to that. Instead, he tried to stand again.

“Keep trying that, and I’ll break your wrists,” Greta drawled.

Brendon froze, then didn’t try again.

Greta smirked. “I’m gonna leave,” she said. “Try not to freak out when Ryan starts screaming.”

She left and shut the door and Brendon was grateful he’d already thrown up, because there was nothing left in his stomach when he did it again.

. . .

It took Brendon only three minutes to decide he was going to get up and get out. It took two seconds to know he wasn’t going to leave Ryan behind.

He’d heard the lock of his door click shut behind Greta, but he also knew that the lock to his bedroom was utter shit, and could be broken if you just twisted the handle hard enough. He was surprised Greta hadn’t known that, considering she was a fucking psychopath now, and psychopaths were usually meticulous enough to notice these things.

“You’re a shitty psychopath,” Brendon muttered to himself as he forced himself to his feet. Everything still hurt, the dent in his head had only just stopped bleeding, and the entire room smelled like acid and putrefaction. He almost slipped in his own vomit, and that would’ve just been humiliating. He was lucky it wasn’t his clothes.

Standing required the most tremendous effort, but he managed. It took about way too fucking long for the dizziness to finally subside enough to allow Brendon to move. He wasn’t stupid enough to use the doorknob to stand again, and was bracing himself against the wall. Nothing else in his body felt broken, aside from his head. He was mostly terrified to open the door and see something so messed up he’d never be able to forget it.

But jesus, Ryan was out there.

Brendon bit his lip, then sucked it up.

He twisted the doorknob and “broke” the lock with little effort. There was a small thunk as the inner workings of the door jumbled and crushed that made Brendon freeze and waited with his breath held for as long as he dared. He didn’t want to get caught, but he sure as hell didn’t want to pass out again, either.

He held his breath a second time, though, to listen for something. Anything. Any sound that could give away what she was doing to Ryan.

He was beyond relieved the he was met with dead silence.

But jesus, corpses didn’t make any noise to begin with.

Brendon stepped cautiously out of his room and wasn’t surprised to see the entire floor was covered with the plastic sheets. He knew Greta wasn’t a huge fan of CSI and crime solving shows, so she couldn’t have learned this from the TV. And Greta sure as hell didn’t read, probably hadn’t read anything not required by a board in her entire life, so these sheets didn’t come from there either.

Jesus, she probably had done this before.

Brendon almost threw up again. He’d known those two guys, Greta’s two boyfriends. One of them had been killed in a car accident, had swerved to avoid something in the road. Witnesses had said a person had stepped in front of the car, but no one could say for certain. What if Greta had done that? What if she’d made him crash into that concrete highway divider?

And the second boy, fucking Brent. Brendon had been science lab partners with the kid. He’d killed himself, slit his wrists in the school showers. There had been abrasions around his wrists, but Greta had reported being kinda kinky with him, so the police had thought nothing of it. Wanting speed along the investigation to let a family grieve was a huge contributing factor to the bruises around Brent’s wrists being pushed under the rug. 

Greta’s doorknob started to move and Brendon darted around the corner at the end of the hall to hide. Greta (and he was assuming it was Greta) went into the bathroom and ran the sink, then the faucet. Brendon took this chance and crept down the hall. He hoped she was taking a shower, or better yet, a bath. It was odd that she’d take a bath in the middle of this horror story, because she hadn’t been that dirty when she’d come to him. But then again, Greta was a fucking psycho. Brendon couldn’t explain anything about her anymore.

Brendon slid down the hall as quietly as he could and backed into Greta’s room, staring at the bathroom door the whole way to make sure she didn’t come out. When he was past the range, he shut the door as quiet as fucking death, milking every movement to make sure he was silent as the grave. He held his breath the whole time, and finally turned around to see what Greta had done.

Brendon turned slowly to make sure he didn’t cause a floorboard to creak, and saw Greta’s whole bed was gone. The frame, the box beneath, the covers and pillows, all of it was gone. It was just a mattress on the floor with Ryan lied out on top, tied up like a starfish.

“Jesus,” Brendon breathed. He used to be into bondage and shit.

Used to.

“Ryan!” he whispered urgently, moving to the side of the mattress and slowly dropping to his knees. When Ryan didn’t stir, Brendon’s mind was swarmed with sickening outcomes and worst case scenarios that made him feel more than hopeless. He wasn’t sure what he would do if it turned out Ryan really was well and truly dead, but he knew it would be gruesome. Maybe he’d break down and beg Greta to kill him? Maybe he’d do it himself and jump in front of a bus? Maybe he’d live life as a zombie and never love again?

Maybe he’d go into a fit of rage and smash Greta’s fucking head to a pulp?

Brendon’s inner demons prayed for that last option to become the reality.

“Ryan,” Brendon whispered again, with less conviction. He wouldn’t want to disturb and badger a dead body. That seemed morbidly disrespectful. He couldn’t explain why, he just knew that it was. 

Brendon reached out and gently brushed Ryan’s bony shoulder with his knuckles, wishing he could hold Ryan one last time when Ryan’s heart had still beat.

Ryan startled awake and his mouth fell open to scream, but Brendon acted quickly and clamped both hands over Ryan’s agape mouth, hushing him urgently.

Ryan looked even more scared when he saw Brendon.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” Brendon promised. He was pretty sure Ryan thought Brendon was the one to kidnap him and tie him down, and Brendon one they hadn’t left on the best of terms, but what? What the fuck Ryan? Brendon wasn’t a god damn hellion, he wouldn’t do that sort of thing to anyone. Just because a relationship ended on bad terms didn’t mean that the more bitter of the two would vow revenge and do awful shit to the other. That only happened in Spanish soap operas and, apparently, whenever it was Greta being “scorned,” if being scorned meant being put in her god damn, mother fucking place.

“I’m gonna get you out,” Brendon repeated, feeling a confidence he knew was misplaced. He looked to what was keeping Ryan on the bed and was relieved to see metal handcuffs. They were actually his own handcuffs. He’d stolen them from the props department to use with girls during his more sordid escapades and had left them behind with most of his, now-missing, shit. He knew that this whole monster of a scene wasn’t pre-mediated, otherwise Greta would have been more prepared and actually checked the cuffs. If she had, she would know they were fake and spring operated. There was blood on the cuffs, but Brendon looked Ryan over and saw no wounds. It was probably just Brendon’s blood, left over from the head wound. Thank god.

“God, this is gonna be easy,” Brendon said to himself. He was feeling a little crazy in his terror and adrenaline. He looked back to Ryan, intending to say something reassuring, but paused when he saw Ryan’s eyes were still wide and terrified, but looking at something behind Brendon.

He knew the fucking trope like the back of his hand, and didn’t even bother turning around. Brendon shut his eyes and waited for the blow, figuring this one would kill him. It was funny, because he’d always thought he’d fight to the death. Oddly enough, here he was, shutting his eyes to make sure he didn’t see it coming.

“You should really think things through,” Greta said. Instead of a hammer, Brendon felt fingers and sharp nails in his hair. His head was yanked back to stare up at Greta. He froze when he saw the tiny gun that was made to fit in a woman’s purse staring him down the nose.

“Do you honestly think I’d just leave you in that room with the broken handle and not secure you?” she asked with a condescending brow raised. “I’m not fucking stupid. I knew you’d get out, I even planned on it, B. And you would either try to leave, or you’d come for Ryan. I mean, I’d figured you go to Ryan. It’s seen that you did. Entirely misplaced since he had me, but whatever. I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

“What?” was all Brendon could get out, because he now knew what it was like to wish he could shit his pants. Surely it would distract Greta and get him away from the gun’s line of sight. 

“I don’t even know why I wanted this,” Greta sighed, sounding like she was talking to herself. “I guess I’m just bored. Jeremy and Brent went so easily. A phone call here, seduction there. And I know, yeah, they fought back and it was gross and dead people are even more gross, but I’d never really had exterior conflict, right? I’d never had a third party.” She shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to see what would happen if he was here.”

“You can’t kill him,” Brendon choked out.

She snorted. “What? You think he’s gonna be the murder victim?” Greta laughed a little. “I’ve been worshipping him for years! Why the hell would I kill him, when I could just as easily kill you? Someone who’s betrayed me and fucked me over and fucked the love of my life.”

Brendon heard Ryan make some sort of noise, but he didn’t say anything.

“And see?” Greta asked. “He’s such a good boy. I told him that if he said a word, I’d rip out his teeth.” She smiled sweetly towards Ryan. “We established the rules after I took out his fingernails. He’s just so amazing. I’m lucky to have him.”

She cocked the gun and Brendon shut his eyes again.

“W-wait.”

Brendon’s eyes flew open and Greta’s smile snapped into something murderous.Then she pointed the gun at Ryan.

 _“What the fuck did you just say?!”_ she shrieked, leaving Brendon completely and stalking towards the bed. “What the fuck did you just say, you fucking piece of shit?! I could fucking kill you! I’ll fucking murder you, you fucking asshole! How could you do this to me?!” Greta started crying hysterically, tears flowing down her cheeks like a faucet had just been turned. Brendon flinched when the crying turned into full blown, heaving sobs, something close to hyperventilation. He met Ryan’s eyes and they were just as terrified and confused as he felt.

“I’ll f-fucking kill y-you!” Greta sobbed, sounding like an absolute fucking mess. Brendon didn’t know what to do.

“P-please calm down?” Ryan requested shakily, obviously trying his luck. 

Greta’s frenzied sobbing almost instantly stopped. She stepped past Brendon, to the bed. “Do, do you apologize?” she asked in a tremor.

Ryan nodded dumbly.

Greta smiled. “Oh. Okay. Good.”

Then she redirected the gun and shot Brendon in the leg.

Brendon didn’t even scream because he was so blindsided by the sudden pain that it didn’t even register as his own. He stared at the wound, the hole in his god damn thigh, and tried to decide if it was real.

“Oh shit, I was aiming for his stomach,” Greta huffed. She looked back to the boy on the bed. “Don’t disobey me again, Ryan.”

Brendon looked up from his daze and saw Ryan was crying silently, staring up at Greta like he was terrified that just looking at Brendon would get him shot again.. Ryan nodded again, outwardly terrified for either his own safety, or Brendon’s, and Brendon was fucking pissed. How dare she put that look on Ryan’s face?

But then the pain hit him, and he kinda felt like throwing up again and again and again and he really wished he could, because it would be a distraction from the horrible feeling of no longer having a complete leg.

“ _Oh god_ ,” he choked out, shock finally wearing off. “Oh fuck, what? What is…” He looked down at his leg and scrambled to cover it, to try and stop the bleeding. There was way too much blood just gushing out go his body right now, and he totally loved these jeans more than any other pair. He could hear Greta laughing, but she sounded distant and muffled and almost cellular, like she wasn’t really there, just laughing over a transmission.

His ears and stomach swam and he felt dizzy again and he really wasn’t going to be able to save Ryan, not like this.

“Wake up!”   
Brendon’s head shot up and he was staring straight down the barrel again.

“You’re gonna ditch me over something like a little gunshot wound?” Greta snorted and shook her head. “You’re the worst friend I’ve ever had, Ryan. You tried to take Ryan from me and now you’re trying to wuss out on me over this. I should really just kill you, but isn’t that what you want?” She paused, looking like she was thinking. “I mean, isn't that what you want? To be dead? In this situation, that is. There’s no way for you to get out of this alive anyways, so don’t you want to be dead sooner rather than later? So you don’t have to watch Ryan suffer.”

Brendon shuddered and didn’t answer because he couldn’t.

Greta slowly began to smile. “You want to be dead so you don’t have to watch Ryan and me. What if I kept you alive to see this?”

“What the f-fuck is wrong with you?” Brendon gasped, still clutching his leg. The bleeding was either slowing or quickening and he couldn’t tell.

Greta giggled and climbed onto the bed, straddling Ryan, and Brendon saw red, though it could very well be the blood he was losing. Until Greta bent over Ryan, and jesus, Brendon was going to kill her. But the pain in his head, and the hole in his leg was making it so hard to focus on any one thing at once aside from the agony. He knew he was useless. There was no way for him to help Ryan if he couldn’t stand, and he doubted he’d be able to actually kill anyone.

Greta bent over and started to kiss Ryan.

Oh, wait, never mind. Brendon could totally kill someone if he could just stand the fuck up.

He could hear the sloppiness of the kiss, and it sounded disgusting, like Greta just wanted Ryan’s spit more than anything. It was revolting and infuriating and Brendon hated the way he could hear Ryan whimper.

He knew the noises that came out of Ryan’s mouth pretty well, and this wasn’t a good one. He knew the difference between the moan that came from Ryan when he ate some good pasta, and the moan that came from him when Brendon angled his fingers just right. He knew the different between Ryan’s laugh of gloating and his laugh of true joy. He knew when Brendon This was the same noise when he’d had some nightmare and had woken up in the middle of the night and didn’t know what to do about the fear that was still in his limbs. This was as noise of fear and panic and Brendon couldn’t believe that Greta was so far gone that she couldn’t tell that Ryan was ready to slide out of his skin just to get away. 

“Greta, stop,” he choked out, knowing she wouldn’t listen. But he had to try, right? “Greta, Greta, no. He doesn’t like that, stop!”

Greta obviously wasn’t listening. She reached up and held to Ryan’s jaw, pulling him mouth open with bruising force that caused a cry of pain slip from between their lips from Ryan. Brendon actually slaw the moment Greta’s tongue was inside Ryan’s mouth, because Ryan’s eyes just went blank, like he was slipping out of his own head. Brendon understood. 

The stress had been too much and Ryan had to clock out.

“Fucking stop it!” Brendon shouted, finally trying to get up, to stop this. He could see Ryan’s body was trembling and Brendon didn’t know what Greta had done to Ryan before this. She’d had Ryan for almost a day. You could get a lot of horrible things done in one night, and god, Greta was gonna die if she did something worse.

Greta suddenly pulled away with a gasp. “Ryan! I got you a present! It’s Christmas and all, so, like, I just thought it’d be nice! It would fit the mood. Our first Christmas together! I think it’d be cute, for us to have a first Christmas like this, truly together. I’m not sure how long it will last, so I just want to be with you and give you this nice gift and we’ll kiss and be happy forever! Or at least, until I’m done.”

Brendon didn’t want to know what “done” meant.

“I need you to stop,” he choked out, unable to forget the terror in Ryan’s voice.

“Shut the fuck up, Brendon, or I’ll kill you before I get to have any fucking fun!”

Brendon didn’t back down. “He doesn’t want this,” he said as steadily as he could, as even as possible, trying to reason with the unreasonable. “Ryan doesn’t want you. He’s gay, Greta! He’s actually gay! He’s a homosexual and he’s into guys and he always has been and he doesn’t—”

“You don’t know Ryan like I do,” Greta interrupted confidently. “He’s not gay. He came to see me. He was confused with that one boy, and now you’ve got his head all messed up and knotted around what he really wants, which is me.” She reached down and stroked Ryan’s cheek, and Ryan let out this noise of fear that shot straight through Brendon’s gut.

“You don’t know Ryan like I do,” Greta whispered.

“Because you don’t fucking know him at all,” Brendon shot back. “You don’t know him, Greta! You’re just some fucking psycho stalker bitch who own’t get her shit together and can’t even get her own fucking boyfriend without being a god damn murderous psychopath.”

Greta pulled a knife out of her god damn sock— which was just so fucking fucked up— and leveled Brendon with a dark stare.

“I’m nearly done with you,” she said.

“I don’t fucking care,” Brendon growled. “I’m fucking done with your shit. I’m done with your shit! Ryan’s not some piece of meat you can follow around and use for yourself and tear apart and fucking stalking and tie to a god damn bed! You’re a monster! You’re the monster that we read about in fucking textbooks and in TV shows and horror movies! You’re a god damn fucking bitch who needs to fucking end up in fucking prison, you fucking cunt!”

Greta turned the knife in her hand and slid it home into Ryan’s hip.

There was dead silence for a long second before a long, horrible scream came from Ryan, ragged and terrible and broken and just so fucking horrifying that Brendon could feel it in his bones. Brendon knew he would hear that scream in his head for the rest of his life.

 _“Fuck you, Greta!”_ Brendon shouted over the screaming, close to hysterics himself. _“Fuck you! Fuck you, you fucking monster, fuck you!”_

Greta started laughing. “Your fucking fault! It was your fault!” She turned and pointed at Brendon, almost jabbing her fingers, looking like a fucking maniac as she sang, “it was your fault! Your fault! Your fault!”

Brendon launched himself from the floor with pure adrenaline in his blood. It was a dumb move, and he wasn’t that fast, but he got Greta to tear the knife from Ryan’s hips and pushed her off Ryan’s hips by pure force. 

There wasn’t even a facing struggle, and it was humiliating. She clocked him in the head with her elbow and got the knife somewhere in his side and Brendon was out.

. . .

He woke up with another gun in his face.

“Not him!” he heard Ryan cry out. “N-not him, please d-don’t hurt him!”

Brendon blinked sluggishly down the barrel. “Hi,” he breathed. He managed to look past the barrel to a police officer wearing a shaky expression, like he was scared by what he was seeing. Brendon was sure there was blood, right? He didn't blame him for being scared.

“It’s gonna be okay,” said another unfamiliar voice. “We’re gonna get you boys home.”

“Brendon, p-please! Don’t go to sleep, _don’t go to sleep!”_

Brendon let his head fall back and blacked out again.


	4. On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, I Didn’t Leave the Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wrap it up like a late christmas present

Brendon honestly didn’t want to open his eyes at first.

He wasn’t quite sure if he was asleep or dead, but he didn’t want to find out. 

He knew he was warm.

Relaxed.

There was softness at every angle, a steady beep that reminded him of a heart, and the air smelled real and clean and stark and awesome. Brendon was breathing, like, one hundred percent oxygen, he was sure. Or maybe marijuana? He felt nice and zen and totally not like he’d been shot and stabbed. 

God, he’d been shot.

And stabbed.

Brendon really didn’t want to open his eyes now.

Except…

Well, Ryan.

That was kinda it.

Brendon wasn’t sure if he felt stronger for the guy now, or if he wanted to fucking marry the guy, but Brendon knew that you had to be a certain type of stupid to nearly die for someone you’d only known for a month. 

But it was Ryan.

And Ryan was his.

He knew he’d only had Ryan for a month, but it had been the best month of his life, so Ryan was his. Brendon wasn’t sure if that was how Greta had started losing her mind; if she’d labelled people as hers until she started to believe it and let nothing stand in the way of her truth. Shit, shit, Brendon wasn’t going to become that, yet he couldn’t help but think that Ryan was fucking his. He wanted to put in the time and effort and his everything to make sure Ryan woke up every morning, happy and satisfied with his life, and went to bed the same way. Brendon was going to make that happen because there was no other way for him to picture his life.

He’d had dreams for a while. They were always different, yet relatively the same.

Brendon would be dancing onstage, directing some people through the steps, dressed in the same yoga pants he’d worn to Ryan’s classes. He’d spin around the stage, light on his feet, on his toes, looking like pure confidence under the spotlight, because he was always illuminated when he was teaching.

Then he’d stop.

Usually, Brendon’s dreams consisted only of teaching, of living his dream and being a star vicariously through nearly a hundred people. But ever since meeting Ryan, Brendon’s dream would go past the teaching. 

No, see, Brendon would pack his bag. He’d leave the theatre. He’d get in his car and he’d go home, and he’d open the door and Ryan would be asleep on the couch, or making tacos in the kitchen, or playing guitar, or smoking weed, or doing something so mundane and perfect that Brendon’s heart would swell and skip a beat in his sleep.

Sometimes, Ryan would be doing something very different, with less clothes and more heat, and Brendon’s heart would beat so fast that he’d wake up.

He wished he was having one of those dreams right now.

He wished, even more, that it wouldn’t be a dream.

Brendon knew he should open his eyes already, should face the music like the god damn adult he was supposed to be, but living in an eyes wide shut world was nice and blissfully ignorant. He wouldn’t have to face a reality where his best friend had tried to kill him, or possibly _had_ killed him.

God, what if he couldn’t open his eyes if he wanted to?

What if they already were open?

What if he was dead?

Brendon’s eyes flew open to see if his fears were true.

Luckily, they weren’t.

Unluckily, now he just wanted to close his eyes again.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, then coughed weakly. He was parched and his throat felt like the cracked ground of the desert. He needed water.

“Dude, you’re alive.”

Brendon forced his eyes somewhere around the room, not quite having his bearings. He was pretty sure he was staring at the ceiling, but couldn’t be certain. It was just as white as the walls.

“B, B,” and there were fingers snapping in front of his face? Fucking annoying. “Rise and shine, jazz queen. We were worried.”   
Brendon squinted and squirmed and tried to sit up, but his torso felt oddly numb. 

Then Pete was standing above him, smiling like a loon.

“Hey, baby,” Pete greeted. Brendon took a closer look and saw how fucked up Pete was. He had huge bruises under his eyes and an exhausted in his expression that Brendon hadn’t seen in him for years. 

That was harrowing.

“Pete,” he rasped. “Water.”

“Shit, yeah,” Pete said.

“I’ll get some,” Andy or Joe or someone volunteered. Not Patrick. Patrick wouldn’t leave the room with Pete looking like he did. Brendon didn’t take it personally, and in fact, was comforted by it. He didn’t want Pete left alone.

“Got stabbed, B,” Pete murmured. “And shot. By Greta fucking Salpeter of all people.” Pete grimaced and handed Brendon some water when it was given to him, by Andy. Brendon appreciated the water, especially with how Pete was helping him drink. “I can’t believe you went through that, and at her hands. Jesus, I just… We kinda knew she was crazy, but not… Not this.” Pete was shaking his head. “Not this.”

“Ryan?” Brendon asked once he got a few mouthfuls of water down.

“Fine,” Pete said. “He, uh. He’s got Spencer and Jon in there. They’re taking care of him.”

“Wanna see him.”

“Why?” Joe asked. “I mean, the guy kinda got this to happen to you. It’s totally his fault. Kinda.”

Brendon’s throat was too dried up for him to put Joe in his fucking place, so Brendon just narrowed his eyes at the ceiling and hoped it would translate to Joe. “Wanna see him,” he repeated stubbornly.

Pete sighed. “Look, please, at least wait until we get the okay from the doctors, so we don’t mess up your leg even more.”

“My side?”

“Cleaned and stitched,” Andy told him. “You’re golden, sparkles.”

Brendon smiled lazily at the nickname. He was slowly beginning to realize that he was drugged to high heaven.

“You should call me that in bed,” Brendon hummed.

“All night, baby,” Andy snorted. 

“Where’s Ryan?” Brendon asked again, because that was really important.

“You already asked that,” Pete reminded him.

“Oh yeah,” Brendon murmured. “I wanna see him.”

“Jesus, Brendon, can you just focus on us? We’re your fucking friends.” Pete was beginning to sound upset, or maybe jealous? “You got hurt so fucking badly, and I _need_ to give you a life-affirming hug before I lose my mind, but all you can think about is that fucking Ryan Ross, who nearly got you killed!”

Brendon became angry, or as angry as he could be when he was so severely doped. “I love Ryan,” he tried to say firmly. “I wanna see him.”

Pete looked hurt.

Brendon paused. “… Wanna see you, too.”

Pete’s hurt expression softened a bit. It didn’t disappear completely, but it was good enough for Brendon right then.

“Help me sit up?” he asked.

Andy, Joe, Pete, and even Patrick came to his aid, which Brendon really appreciated. He kinda liked feeling cared for. Granted, he had to be shot and stabbed to be doted upon like this, but it was the little things that made being bedridden that much easier to stomach. That, and he totally didn’t need to vomit. That was a nice change, though his stomach was really sore from all the heaving, like it would after a bad stomach virus. He wiggled to get more comfortable when he was finally sitting up. The movement made his stomach protest even more and he really didn’t feel like he was going to eat for a few days.

But hey, he was alive, right? And so was Ryan. So that was really fucking awesome, you know? That Ryan made it and so did he and Greta…

“Greta,” he blurted out. “Greta? What, what happened?”

“Police showed up from the screaming, and finally took notice of Spencer’s missing person report,” Patrick explained. “They kicked the door in when no one answered and found you guys. Greta got tased, then tased again, then hog tied and put in the car. She tried to assault one of the officers. They had, like, five cars on the scene at the end of this. Got you two in an ambulance, closed off the apartment. She’s in jail right now. It all happened yesterday, anyways, so not much has happened since. Merry Christmas, by the way. They kinda need you to press charges.”

Brendon snorted. “Should I? I don’t know.”

Everyone looked really pissed off in unison, and Brendon wished he had a camera. Their perfectly matching expressions was something for the record books, and Brendon wanted that photo hung in front of his bed so he would see it every time he masturbated to some freaky porn that he should be a hell of a lot more ashamed about jacking off to. 

Actually, Brendon probably wouldn’t get off to shit like that anymore after what he’d just lived through.

“If you don’t press charges, I will be beating your fucking ass into the god damn ground,” Patrick said bluntly. “Because if you don’t press charges, she’ll either come back and hurt you, or hurt Ryan, or hurt someone else. She’s killed two fucking people, Brendon, we don’t know how, yet we know she has, but we have no proof of it, so we can’t put her in jail either. Unless a warrant goes out on her, she’ll just fucking get away with it. That’s not going to happen. None of us are going to let that happen, and neither are you. Do not let her get away with what she’d done, Brendon. That’ll make you just as bad as her.”

Brendon paled a little bit. He didn’t want to be Greta.

“She’s my best friend,” he whimpered. “Or, she, she was… How can I just do that to her?”

“I don’t fucking care if it makes you feel bad,” Patrick grit out. “You’re going to get that bitch sent to jail or an asylum because it’s the right thing to do. That’s the end of it. Or do you want her to nearly rape Ryan again?”

Brendon got even paler. 

“… I need to see Ryan.”

. . .

Brendon let Joe wheel him to Ryan’s room, because he could only see Ryan if he stayed in his wheelchair. Despite his friends’ protests, the nurse had been oddly accommodating. Probably something to do with the fact that him and Ryan went through hell together. Brendon was inwardly surprised that they hadn’t been put in the same room. Wasn’t that what they did in the movies?

Brendon sat obediently in the chair until he was actually inside Ryan’s room. Then he was trying to lift himself with his arms to see the bed.

Ryan didn’t look much better than Brendon felt. 

Spencer and Jon were actually asleep, which was sweet. Spencer was half on the hospital bed, half in his chair, snoring softly. Jones sliding halfway down his own chair and snoring loudly, and Brendon knew he couldn’t be comfortable.

Joe quietly wheeled Brendon to the side of Ryan’s bed and pat Brendon’s shoulder. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks,” Brendon replied softly, just looking over Ryan.

He had a horrible bruise over his left cheek and the left eye was just as fucked up. His wrists were horribly torn up and chafed and Brendon knew those were going to scar. They weren’t wrapped or bandaged, so Brendon figured the doctors wanted the wounds to breathe. He leaned against the bed a little and looked into Ryan’s face. 

This would probably be the last time he’d get to actually look at Ryan without getting in trouble. 

He loved this guy. He really did. He loved Ryan and he wanted to be with him and it was the worst fate in the world to think that Ryan would deny him this privilege to just look at him and appreciate what he was seeing simply because it was Ryan and Ryan was beautiful. Honestly beautiful. From his eyebrows to his cheekbones to his Adam’s apple to his collarbone, his chest, his wrists, his hips, thighs, calves, ankles, fucking everything. Brendan was in love with him and he was the most beautiful thing Brendon had ever laid eyes on. 

He couldn’t believe he wouldn’t be able to look at him like this ever again.

“Brendon?” Ryan suddenly sighed, the name just falling from Ryan’s lips like sugar water. Brendon looked up from Ryan’s legs to his eyes and smiled nervously.

“Uh, hey,” he greeted. He wasn’t being drugged with painkillers as of now, so his speech was definitely more controlled, though he would be in a lot more pain soon enough. “I, uh, I totally didn’t mean to stare at you and be creepy and stuff, just, I’m happy you’re okay.”

Ryan nodded and rolled his shoulders and let out a soft breath. “You look okay too. How do you feel?”

Brendon shrugged. “Well enough. Can’t feel much.”

Ryan nodded, probably to show he felt the same. “The drugs are good.”

Brendon smiled a bit wider. “They’re really nice. And the stitches don’t even itch yet. I haven’t seen my face, but I’m sure it’s just as fucked as yours, if not worse.”

Ryan actually chuckled a little. Brendon beamed.

“I don’t hate you, Brendon,” Ryan told him. Brendon sat up and listened intently. “I was… I was scared.”

When Ryan went silent for a moment, Brendon prodded him with an understanding smile, “go on. You can tell me.”

Ryan sighed again. “It’s just, you started to mean so much to me so quickly and I was, I guess, scared. I didn’t like that I was falling just as fast as you were. You were just a great guy with an amazing sense of humor and a lot of flexibility who could make me forget deadlines and show me ideas I hadn’t even known existed. Hell, I started working on my first romance novel when I first met you, and that’s a big deal. I hate romance novels. I despise them, I think they’re cliché and overdone and boring, and… You kinda changed that. You made the idea the opposite of boring and I needed to get it on paper before I forgot.

“And that was scary, okay? It was scary that suddenly, after a whole life of hating romance novels, I was suddenly writing one. And you kept making it worse, because you were so funny and nonchalant and relaxed and confident that I didn’t even see this as a big deal until it hit me in the face when I was drinking with Spencer.”

Ryan grimaced at the ceiling, shaking his head a bit. “Then… I saw the pictures. Not only was it fucking terrifying to know I was being stalked, but you were involved, and at first, I rationalized the previous fear about romance novels and made it into me having some sort of sixth sense and knowing you were dangerous. That bullshit only lasted a day or two, but it was almost a way out. That’s what it became, at least. I didn’t have to keep scaring myself because I had a good reason to leave you, but… Do you have any idea how miserable I was?”

Ryan looked to him, and Brendon shook his head, because he didn’t know.

“It was bad,” Ryan told him almost sadly. “Spencer was pissed because he though I should be pissed, even though I wasn’t. I knew you didn’t know about the stalking. What you did, trying to use me and hurt me? That was really fucked up. I-I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive you for that for a long time, but being without you is so much worse than all that other shit. I know I should have been mad too, and I know you can, apparently, be a really shitty person, but what does it matter, you know? You were so sorry. I could see it in your eyes. I know you won’t do it ever again, to me at least.”

“I won’t,” Brendon cut in to swear. “I won’t ever do it again, to anyone. It was a monstrous thing to do. I swear to god, I’m not that person, not really. I just, I wanted to help my friend. I didn’t know she was so wrong. I’m sorry.”

Ryan chuckled mirthlessly. “You nearly bled out,” he murmured. “I doubt you knew what she intended to do. And I really do think you’ve learned your lesson.”

Brendon nodded vehemently. “I have. I really have. I’m sorry.” And, “I-I love you.”

Ryan bit his lip. “… I love you too.”

Brendon’s heart began to race. “… Really?”

Ryan nodded. “Being tied to a bed and nearly dying can do that to you. I love you. You’re all I could really think of. Another cliché, right?”

Brendon smiled happily and shrugged. He was still a little drugged, so his joy was a bit subdued. Once he was sobered up, he would be dancing or singing or something. Anything to celebrate this fucking amazing confession from Ryan. Because having the boy he was in love with love him back? That was in the stratosphere of dreams. He was used to lust being reciprocated, but never love, not love that extended beyond friendship and brotherhood.

Ryan loved him.

“When we’re out of here,” Brendon began cautiously. “Would you, maybe, wanna go to the outlet mall and trick people in thinking we’ve time traveled? We can dress up and use dumb accents and shit, and I’ll get us breakfast for dinner. We can go shopping for things that piss of Patrick. Anything green, really. I need to stock up on green shit for replace all of our regular stuff with on St. Patrick’s day anyways. That’s something we all like to do. We’ve even got green couches and shit in a storage unit. We change out literally everything. What do you say?”

Ryan smiled tiredly and reached out to hold Brendon’s hand. “It’s a date.”

. . .

Brendon spent New Year’s Eve curled up in Ryan’s bed, watching the ball drop in New York from Ryan’s TV. They had fried chicken in their laps and those dumb party hats on their heads. Brendon’s chosen family was surrounding them, as was Jon. Spencer was with Linda, but Ryan didn’t mind. 

Ryan was humming softly under his breath, leaning against Brendon’s side. They hadn’t done their outlet mall date because Ryan hadn’t gotten out of the hospital yet, but Brendon was being patient. He was more than content to have Ryan curled against his side. 

“Five,” Ryan began to count in a soft whisper.

“Four,” Pete chimed in.

“Three,” Patrick sighed. He was grumpy because Pete was eating his chicken wing.

“Two,” Andy and Joe and Jon said in unison.

“One,” Ryan whispered before turning and kissing Brendon softly.

. . .

Three weeks later, Brendon ran around the car and pulled open the passenger door. His side wasn’t even hurting and the doctors had said he had made a miraculously quick recovery, even the limp caused by his leg was gone after a few sessions of physical therapy. He was only on some painkillers with every meal and that was it. Christmas was well past them, none of their friends had even celebrated, so Pete had just shoved presents at everyone once Brendon had gotten out of the hospital. The gym membership from Andy had been a little ironic, but now Brendon totally intended to buff up and get his shit back together so he could get out there and dance like the fucking sugar plum fairy he knew he was.

But for now, he had to get this over and done with. 

Brendon opened the passenger door and grabbed Ryan’s cane before helping the man out and handing it to him. Ryan smiled stiffly, yet gratefully, and took the can, leaning heavily against it as he struggled to walk, still adjusting to the need for the assistance. Brendon felt a pang of guilt go through him every time he saw Ryan look uncomfortable with his new handicap. 

It was his fault, really, Brendon knew it was. Intrinsically, it was his fault that Ryan couldn’t walk well anymore. The knife Greta had dug into Ryan’s side had severed muscle beyond saving and he would never be able to walk right again. He’d experience pain during the change of weather and Brendon would always keep the cabinet stocked with low dose, prescription Vicodin for him. He would help Ryan down the stairs and they’d look into get an apartment on the first floor when they moved in together. He would help Ryan get out of beds when it hurt to much and he was going to be right there with Ryan when Ryan’s legs would fail him and he’d need to sit down on the concrete in public for an hour. He’d sit there with Ryan so he wouldn’t stand out and they would stay there for as long as Ryan needed because Brendon loved him.

And right now, Brendon was going to help Ryan get out of the car and lead him to the women’s prison.

They were visiting Greta before the trial.

Brendon was scared.

Ryan really, really needed this.

The therapist Ryan had ben given was kinda shitty because Ryan hadn’t wanted to risk anything getting out to anyone. Ryan wrote with an alias, yeah, but the paranoia was still real. Brendon wanted to get a better therapist. One that didn’t suggest revisiting your psychotic captor in prison. Brendon didn’t care about certification and degrees, he knew Ryan wasn’t even close to being ready for that. The PTSD that was glaringly obvious whenever no one was looking. Brendon could see it in his eyes whenever Ryan was around the house or smoking or just staring at nothing. Brendon could see everything in his vacant eyes.

“Think you’re ready for this?” Brendon asked cautiously. This had to be the eighth time he’d asked that the whole ride to the prison. He knew he was being redundant, but he also had to be sure. He didn’t want anything disastrous to happen when they were both still recovering. 

“I’m not ready at all,”Ryan confessed with a chuckle and a shy grin. “But I have to, right? Or I will have to, eventually. I mean, we’re gonna see her in court in a few days. I’d rather have the first time be on our own terms. Where we can run if we need to.”

Brendon smiled a bit shakily and nodded. “We can do this.”

“Oh god, I hope so,” Ryan choked out through nervous laughter. “I wish I could hold your hand. But I’m just so fucking useless with this thing.” He rapped the cane against the ground, glaring at it like it had caused him offense. Brendon didn’t doubt that it had. “If the zombie apocalypse happens soon, I’m not gonna ask you to stay behind. I’m fucking dead.”

“You’ll get used to the cane soon,” Brendon assured him. “You’re a quick learner. Soon, you’ll be speeding around with that thing like a pro.” Ryan had told him, very early on, that he didn’t want Brendon pretending he’d ever walk the same again. Brendon was sure it had something to do with false hope or maybe just not living in denial. Maybe it helped Ryan feel better? Maybe it was good to not have someone try and remind you of what you’d never have under misguided affections and good intentions? Brendon wasn’t actually sure, but he was happy to accommodate.

Honestly, every morning? He felt lucky just to wake up to Ryan’s name on the screen of his phone. Not to mention the rare nights where Brendon would stay over at Ryan’s. God, he loved it. Rolling over and seeing Ryan, splayed out and breathing peacefully. At first, Brendon hadn’t even been allowed to see Ryan for more than a couple hours, and never with the door closed, simply for Spencer and Jon’s benefit. They’d been hit hard by the kidnapping and the state Ryan had been returned in. Neither really blamed Brendon, but the instinctual and lingering resentment stayed with the two men for a few days.

One day, after Brendon had been kicked out of their house, Ryan had apparently said some very choice words to them. Brendon only wished he could have been there to witness the exchange. Ryan was a god with the english language. Now Brendon was able to stay over for a night or two, but never too much. Spencer and Jon’s anger was still kinda there, but Brendon was working on it.

Pete and Pat and Andy and Joe were just as guilty of being overprotective and even clingy. It was nice, to feel wanted. Brendon loved coming home to eager faces that seemed so relieved just to see Brendon’s face again. And sometimes, Pete would even sneak onto the couch and cuddled up with Brendon, or even invite Brendon to his and Patrick’s bed. Brendon especially loved those nights, because sleeping between Pete and Patrick was the second comfiest place in the world, Ryan’s side being the first.

Ryan continued to hobble towards the prison, looking oddly out of place in the parking lot. Brendon felt like dreams died slowly here. Ryan was too vibrant and full of promise to be here. Brendon smiled softly as he looked his boyfriend over, before leaning in quickly and pecking Ryan’s cheek with his lips.

Ryan looked to him with a raised brow and a questioning smirk. “What was that for?”

Brendon shrugged. “I love you. And I like being with you. And kissing you. And you’re facing one direction, so my best bet was your cheek, and that’s why I was kissing your cheek. You’re so cute. I love being able to kiss you.”

Ryan smiled a bit shyly. “I… I love you too.”

Brendon was still getting used to hearing Ryan say that.

“Let’s go face our fears,” Ryan said, reaching over to squeeze Brendon’s shoulder before stepping with more intent and nodding to the guard, who opened the door for them to enter the main prison. Ryan was still exuding a confidence that Brendon knew neither of them had.

“Who’re you here for?” They were asked by a man at a desk. The man looked tired and worn out and ready to go home.

“Greta Salpeter,” Ryan said. Brendon was proud when Ryan’s voice only wavered a little bit. “We, we don’t know her number or anything, so we’re sorry for that. We’d just like to see her, if that’s okay. She’s allowed visitors, right?”

The man nodded. “She’s due for trial soon. You boys know that, right? Hasn't had many visitors, the poor thing. All she does is cry for the same person.”

Brendon and Ryan didn’t say anything.

“IDs, please.”

Brendon and Ryan did as told. The man lingered when he looked over Ryan’s ID. Then he looked up at Ryan.

“You wouldn’t happen to be the same Ryan that she’s crying for, are you?”

Ryan smiled stiffly.

“We’d like to see her, if that’s all right,” Brendon cut in, not wanting Ryan to have to answer that. “Are we allowed to?”

The guard nodded and handed back their IDs after swiping them. “You’ll be pat down and go through a metal detector. Same rules as an airport. She’s a high interest prisoner, so nothing more than the phones through the bulletproof glass.”

“Thank god,” Brendon said before he could stop himself.

The guard snorted. “You boys seem scared.”

“So we go through there?” Ryan asked, pointing to a set of double doors with wire enforced glass windows.

The guard nodded and waved his hand. “Go for it.”

Ryan hobbled to the door and Brendon really didn’t want to follow, simply because he wasn’t ready to see Greta. Neither of them were ready to see Greta.

But god, what else were they going to do?

Brendon followed Ryan and they ended up in that row you’d see in the movies, with the cubicles that had phones and chairs and the glass. Brendon had never thought he'd end up in this place. It just didn’t seem to be in the cards for him, or it hadn’t. He was just grateful he was on this side of the glass, and not the other.

They were directed to a certain window and Brendon gave Ryan the chair, then took the one that the guard brought for Brendon to use. Ryan was stiff in his seat, and reached over to hold Brendon’s hand. Brendon turned to him and tried to smile reassuringly, but then the doors on the other side of the glass swung open.

And Greta was led out.

She was in an orange jumpsuit and her blond, curly hair was a ratty mess tied up in a ponytail that was barely holding itself together. Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, but they contained a fire in them that made Brendon feel like he was going to crawl out of his skin just to get away.

Then she smiled impossibly wide when she saw Ryan.

“Baby!” she gasped, though Brendon only knew this because he read her lips, and then she scrambled forward and sat in her own chair. She all but tore the phone form the wall and start talking manically into the receiver.

Ryan halting reached for their own phone and brought it to his ear. Greta kept talking and talking, but Brendon couldn’t hear her. Then, Ryan tilted the receiver just so that Brendon could hear.

Greta suddenly stopped talking.

 _“Why is he here?”_ she asked with a deadly gleam in her eyes, hand visibly tightening over the phone, her knuckles turning white. _“I don’t want him here, Ryan. I want him gone. He doesn’t deserve you, he isn’t part of us! He’s not one of us! He shouldn’t be here!”_

The guard that had led Greta in started to step forward, but Ryan met the man’s eyes and shook his head. He planned on talking to her.

Brendon squeezed Ryan’s hand under the desk.

“I’m here because Ryan and I are together again,” he told Greta. “And we’re not fucking afraid of you, okay? We’re not afraid of anything you say or threaten. You’re behind bullet proof glass. You can’t hurt us again.” He said that mostly for Ryan’s and his own reassurance. “We’re going to persecute you and you’re gonna go to prison for a very long time.”

“You can’t prove the murders,” she snarled. Brendon wondered if she’d ever admitted to that. He doubted it. Greta was too smart for that. Or at least, she could be too smart. 

“We’re still gonna get you for stalking Ryan,” he said. 

“And bring out what you did!” Greta almost shouted. “What you did to Ryan! With me! You, you did the same thing! You did the same thing as me, you fucking used him! You used him like I did. You were tricking him and going to break his heart, a-and… what you did could be considered rape!”

Ryan snorted as Brendon suddenly felt cold.

“Like I’d even press charges if they did try to accuse him of that,” Ryan said. Brendon wondered if he was only speaking up now that he had the courage. He probably felt more courageous to defend Brendon, and that was kinda cute? Brendon liked it, he liked that Ryan was at least able to gather himself to defend Brendon. It made him feel like they were a team. “Brendon may have started this with ill intentions, but he and I are stronger than most relationships you’d see on TV. We’re going to last. And you’re going to rot in a cell.”

Greta visibly stiffened and her mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish, before she finally got out, “I-I loved you.”

“You don’t know what love is,” Ryan said coldly.

Brendon’s eyes went wide like he’d just heard the greatest comeback of the century. “Jesus, you’re hot,” he told Ryan thoughtlessly.

Ryan blushed and Brendon could tell he’d caught him off guard. Greta looked like she hadn’t noticed.

“I loved you, Ryan,” she continued to say, eyes watering. “I loved you! I did everything for you, I gave up so much time for you, I gave years of my life to you! I dedicated my time and money to you, I nearly dropped out of college for you! You came before my studies, you inspired my music, you mean everything to me! How could you do this to us?”

“There is no us, Greta.” Ryan scowled. “There never was. It was just you, because a fucking psycho, taking pictures of yourself in my bed, following me and breaking into my car, touching me and using me to make yourself feel like you’re something special.”

Brendon flinched when Ryan talked about how Greta had touched him. Brendon hadn’t gotten any sort of detail from Ryan, but he knew that Greta had overstepped physical boundaries to the point of extreme when she’d locked Brendon away. The kiss, apparently, hadn’t been the worst of it. Ryan hadn’t ever wanted to talk about it, never had, not even with Spencer. Brendon knew Ryan would tell him when he was ready, but Brendon still couldn’t help feel animalistic animosity towards Greta. 

Sometimes, Brendon wanted to kill her. When he’d tell Ryan that, Ryan would just look to him with sorrowful eyes and kiss him until the anger died in Brendon’s stomach and all he could feel was helpless to the closeness of Ryan. Those were some of the best and worst nights. 

“We’re gonna send you away for a long time,” Ryan said, voice softening when he noticed Brendon had drifted from the present. “And you’re going to be in that cell for so long that you’re going to lose your mind worse than you already have.”

“I’m pleading insanity,” Geta choked out, looking almost scared.

“Insanity won’t work if there’s no hope to fix you,” Ryan replied almost cruelly. “I’ve got the best lawyer money can buy. I’m not going to let you get off so easily.”

Greta started to cry. Then the crying stopped almost immediately, and her expression became murderous.

“I’ll kill Brendon,” she said in a low voice, almost whispering into the phone. “No one will see it coming, just like those stupid boys. I’ll push Brendon into the street. I’ll poison his food. I’ll cut his brake lines. I’ll drown him, gut him, set him on fucking fire. And then, once he’s dead, I’ll take you. I’ll chain you to my bed and I’ll never let you leave. YOu’ll die on that bed, Ryan. You’ll become nothing more than a skeleton. And you’ll never, ever be found, by anyone. They’ll all forget you.” She started smiling like the devil. “They won’t even notice you’re gone! All of them, Spencer? And Jon? They’ll forget about you, they’ll be glad you’re gone! Your own family didn’t love you, Ryan, why would these people? Why would Brendon! How can you think Brendon could ever love you when your own mother turned her back on you?”

Ryan slammed his hand onto the table in front of them, and Greta flinched, falling silent.

“Don’t you dare bring my family into this,” Ryan snarled.

“They hated you, Ryan, they—”

“My parents were never my family,” Ryan cut her off. “But Spencer? And Jon? You don’t even deserve to say _their names,_ let alone accuse them. You don’t know the first thing about them and you never will. They’re above you, so very high above you. You’re lower than shit, and you will never mean as much to anyone as they mean to me, do you understand? You piece of shit, I can’t wait to put you behind bars. I hope you die surrounded by concrete and anger and regret. I hope you fucking die in a cell like you’re in now. And I hope you die slowly. I hope it hurts.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Greta snorted, though there was something in her eyes that didn’t quite back up her words. 

“Do I look like I give a shit as to whether or nor you’re scared of me?” Ryan scoffed. “I don’t need you to be scared of me, I don’t even want that. But what you should be scared of is what my lawyer can, and will do to you. What she’s capable of. We’ve got everything against you, you freak. We’ve got he photos you took, the police report, your confessions to kidnapping me and Brendon and what you did to me on that bed. We have literally every piece of evidence we could need to put you away for a long time.

“So no, you’re not scared of me, and you shouldn’t be. But you should be scared of what you’ve done to yourself. About what your greed and gloating has done to damn you. Because whatever outcome we get from the trial, it will be your own fault, for the pictures that _you_ showed Brendon, the words _you_ told the cops, and the scene that _you_ created in your own apartment. You shouldn’t be afraid of me. You should be afraid of yourself.”

Greta’s expression was unreadable. Meaning she was terrified.

Brendon felt a thrill of confidence shoot through him and spoke up. “You should never have tried to fuck with someone like Ryan,” he said haughtily. He was kinda just tooting Ryan’s horn for him, and he knew he wasn’t _that_ great in this situation, but he wasn’t going to sit here silently and watch Ryan be the man Brendon wanted to be in this situation. “We’re not afraid of you, Greta.”

“Why are you here?” She asked brokenly. Something in Brendon’s stomach twisted, and he was reminded of the first time he’d seen Greta cry. She’d found a note under her desk talking about how she smelled like milk and had weird hair. It was so fucking grade school that they laughed about it now, but he could never shake the need to comfort her when he looked like this. Not so sincerely. “Why would you come here? To gloat? To rub it in my face?” She started crying. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

All of Brendon’s sympathy bled away.

“You shot me,” Brendon stated bluntly. “You shot me and stabbed me. You meant to hurt me.”

“I don’t care about you,” she sighed, barely looking to Brendon. “I never meant to hurt Ryan.”

“You god damn bitch,” Ryan growled. He stood and tried to lift Brendon with him, obviously wanting to leave. “We’re done here. We’ll see you at the trial. I hope you never get out of this prison.”

Brendon stood and let Ryan pull him away, footsteps heavy.

At least he couldn’t be delusional about Greta’s intentions towards him. 

“I don’t want you to think you’re worthless,” Ryan said as he marched Brendon through the parking lot to the car as best as he could with the cane. Brendon was impressed he was moving so well with one hand occupied. “I don’t want you to think you’re less than anything or anyone just because of her. She’s a cunt. She’s a monster. She’s not right in the head. And if I were a murderous psychopath? I’d like you more.”

Brendon choked on a laugh and shook his head. “So happy you waited until after we got out of the prison to say that, otherwise they’d put you away.”

“Wouldn’t Greta just love that,” Ryan grumbled.

Brendon shrugged, pulling out the keys. “I think… You and I need to understand how dangerous she is. You do, right? You realize she could have killed us.”

“ _She nearly did_ ,” Ryan stressed, brow knit upwards in obvious anxiety. “I watched you slip into nothing, Brendon. I thought you were dead. She’d stabbed you again and I’d thought she’d killed you. I thought you were dead, Brendon, I thought I’d been looking at the dead body of the person I loved while strapped down to a fucking mattress, waiting to be molested again.”

Brendon winced and helped Ryan into his seat. “I wish you wouldn’t say it so, like, nonchalantly…”

“I say it like that because I’m over it,” Ryan replied as he readjusted his leg. “I am, Brendon,” he insisted when he saw Brendon’s skeptical expression. “It was kinda awful, a-and I still get weird in the shower and tend to scrub away a few layers of skin, but I’m getting better. I know that she’s crazy. I know it wasn’t my fault. Just feel a little dirty sometimes.”

“You shouldn’t,” Brendon told him as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “You’re perfect. You didn’t deserve it.”

Ryan smiled across the console at Brendon. “Take us home, baby.”

. . .

“So, I was gonna order pizza but Patrick told me that hosting dinner meant cooking dinner,” Pete explained as he dished out the pasta he’d apparently cooked for everyone, which Brendon was impressed by. He was even more impressed that Patrick had gotten Pete to actually cook. Pete wasn’t bad at cooking or anything, he just kinda stopped caring a third of the way through and burned whatever it was he’d been trying to make. Brendon was impressed his attention span had lasted. 

“Did you know what you can get a blow job while chopping tomatoes?” Pete asked with a knowing grin, and okay, that’s how Patrick had kept Pete’s attention span. Brendon should have seen that coming.

Ryan, Spencer, and Jon were over for dinner at the other apartment with Andy, Joe, Pat, and Pete, and Brendon was kinda really excited to have everyone over together without it involving legal and psychological matters and not talking about how Brendon had better walk on eggshells with Ryan so Jon and Spencer wouldn’t get trigger happy with the animosity.

Brendon was just happy they were all together like an actual family. If things went with Ryan like Brendon wanted, they would be a real family soon. Not legally or anything but amiable and friendly and including each other in almost everything they did. Brendon already had convinced Spencer and Jon to let Ryan move in with him, and that had been an impressive feat that had involved lot of bribery. Brendon was hopeful, and he was happy everyone was together with some really good food.

“This pasta is amazing and I’m confused,” Andy told Pete with a snort. “What did you do? Put cocaine in it?”

“Diced onion and a hint of salt,” Patrick supplied. Brendon suddenly understood and Ryan giggled. 

“Did Pete even cook this?” Brendon asked.

“Pete did what I told him to do,” Patrick specified.

“Around my dick,” Pete added with a satisfied expression. “He looks amazing on his knees, and his lips wrapped around my dick are the best.”

“I wasn’t expecting a porno with my dinner,” Jon said dryly.

“I think it’s funny,” Spencer chimed in with a grin. “And Andy’s hella right, this pasta is fucking amazing, so thank you, Pete, for making such an amazing meal, and thank you, Patrick, for sucking his dick and making all of these possible.”   
“I think I have a crush on Spencer,” Joe said with a smirk.

Spencer chuckled and held up his hand with the engagement ring on it.“Sorry lad, I’m taken,” he said with a matching smirk. Linda had proposed. Yes, Linda. The girl proposed. Ryan had been there and had grinned and giggled and called Brendon to share the good news and to tell him that it was the cutest, most adorable thing he’d ever heard.

“Oh god, no,” Joe groaned. “Fuck, there goes my soulmate. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Grow some balls and ask out that girl in your Bio class,” Patrick drawled. “She’d been eye fucking you for the past few months, I could see it from the back. Seriously, I’ll bet she brought a spare pair of panties in her bag for how much she stared at you.”

Joe blushed and Jon cackled.

“You should totally ask her out,” Brendon agreed. He’d never met the girl, but he might as well have with how much Joe had talked about her. “Spend 2016 with her. Get married like Spencer. Make memories and make even more babies.”

“You’re disgusting,” Joe said. “She’s a fine lady, not a breeding horse.”

“Oh my god, that image,” Jon chortled. “Who even considers that analogy enough to refute it? That’s almost disgusting.” He ate more of the pasta. “But I’ve seen worse in porn.”

“Please tell me you don’t want horse porn,” Ryan beseeched. 

Jon guffawed and then gaped. “What the fuck do you think I am? I ain’t no weirdo.” He ate more of his pasta. “I watch kinky bondage shit instead. Ever heard of a spreading bar?”

“God, fuck off,” Patrick groaned. 

When everyone else looked confused, Pete giggled. “I own a spreading bar,” he told them. “Patrick hates it. But god, does he love it.”

“You guys are weirdly kinky,” Ryan observed. Brendon was just glad he wasn’t the only one with the weird porn search history.

“You’d love it,” Pete said. “Patrick does. He loves feeling helpless, that’s just a huge thing for him. And just like with girls, spreading your legs really makes it feel a hell of a lot more… more. It’s just more. How do you put it, Pattycakes?”

“Stop talking about this or next time you wanna fuck, I’m taking care of myself in the bathroom and locking the door?”

Pete shut up abruptly, but he was smiling like he was still very pleased with himself.

“I’m scared about the trial,” Ryan suddenly said. 

Somber expressions fell on everyone in the room.

“I’m scared of the things she’ll say,” Ryan continued. “And I’m scared of the media. My editor says that they want to use this as publicity. That they’ll use the trial to expose and eradicate my alias and have me write books under my own name from now on. They want to ensure that I’ll have a legacy. To sell books after I’m dead. Or at least keep my name out there for a generation more. And I’m scared of the backlash of just… everyone.”

Ryan looked down at his food. Brendon realized Ryan had barely eaten at all, despite the fact that the rest of them were nearly finished, some onto their second helping.

“I, I took an alias to begin with because I didn’t want hear the cruel things people could say,” Ryan admitted. “Critiquing, I can take. You have to be able to take critiquing when you’re an sort of artist, whether it’s visual, or auditory, or whatever. But I’m not a strong person. Not anymore, you know? I can take shitty insults, but not…” He sighed. “I just, I wanted to avoid it. Now it’s gonna come into the open with a stalker that asked a boy to manipulate me, a boy that I happened to fall in love with. So not only am I being show to be a weakling who can’t fight back against a girl and ended up chained to a bed, but I’m, I-I just… I become a fag.”

Pete flinched at the word and Spencer just looked pissed. 

“We’ve been over this, Ryan,” he huffed. “You’re not a fag. Your dad was wrong.”

“I know,” Ryan sighed. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. I just, I don’t wanna be that famous author who was a coward and got outed during a court case over a stalker. Isn't that just horrible?” Ryan began to smile, but it was wretched and heart breaking. Brendon reached over and put an arm around Ryan’s waist. “I hid in the dark for so long, and then I’m thrust into the spotlight over… over Greta.” He sighed. “At least my dad is dead.”

At first, Brendon thought that was a fucked up thing to say, but then Spencer snorted and nodded his agreement, and Jon even said, “amen to that,” and threw back his beer.

“I’m guessing your dad was shit,” Andy said.

“Total asshole,” Spencer cut in.

“Fucking monster,” Jon added.

“May he never rest,” Ryan sighed.

“I really like how in sync all of you are,” Andy said. “Like, it’s almost visible. How long you’ve known each other. It’s been a while, right? Friends since, what? Grade school?”

“I’ve known Spencer since Kindergarten,” Ryan told Andy. “Jon from high school.”

“I was in freshman language arts with him, and he fucking tore into my short story that we had to right as a second-person introduction,” Jon snickered. “Seriously, the shit he wrote on my paper. He was more brutal than the first world war. Ryan Ross made one girl cry.”

“Because she wrote some god damn, devil-falls-in-love-with-an-angel bullshit,” Ryan huffed. “The most cliché, overdone piece of crap plot you could ever write. It’s nearly impossible to make that plot original, let alone good! I did her a favor. Life isn’t a fairy tale, it’s a—”

“Death statistic,” Spencer finished for him, rolling his eyes. 

“He says that a lot,” Jon told Brendon with a wink. “Get used to it. I’m gonna convince him to get a tattoo of that when he’s drunk so he doesn’t have to say it. He can just point at the tattoo and let the other person read it and be done. Save himself the breath.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Brendon chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind some ink, though I do love all that clear skin.” He leaned over and kissed Ryan’s bared neck for emphasis, lingering against his skin and breathing the other man in. He could feel Ryan’s skin begin to heat against his lips and knew Ryan was blushing. Ryan’s neck had always been extremely sensitive and Brendon knew all the best ways to make him squirm by now, and god, did he love exploiting that knowledge. Brendon kept placing small kisses to Ryan’s neck, feeling Ryan’s breath hitch.

But then Spencer cleared his throat tellingly and Brendon pulled away with a regrettable sigh, because he’d been really into making Ryan squirm like that.

“Please stop before you make my best friend get a boner in front of me,” Spencer said, not beating around the bush. “I’ve seen that a couple times already, more than I ever should, considering how long I’ve known this asshole.” Ryan giggled as Spencer spoke. “I’m pretty keen on not seeing it again, or at least, avoiding it for as long as possible.”

“Preventing the inevitable, if you will,” Jon drawled.

“You’re gonna see it again,” Brendon told Spencer. “With how often I’m over? And once I get you guys to love me as much as my friends, the things you’re gonna let me do? It really will be inevitable.”

“Wow, this is _really_ making me not like you,” Spencer said. 

“Wasn’t this dinner and dumb discussions?” Andy asked. “When did we start talking about dicks?”

“We’re gay, what do you expect?” Pete asked.

“Five out of nine aren’t gay,” Andy replied. “Your argument is unfound. Can we talk about something cooler? Like Star Wars?”

“I can make you a fucking powerpoint on Star Wars,” Patrick said.

Brendon settled back for a relaxed night of listening to the familiar drone of Patrick’s passion and let himself enjoy the family he was working to put together.

. . .

“I think you and I are good together,” Ryan told Brendon when he curled against Brendon’s side back at Ryan’s apartment, in Ryan’s room, Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, Brendon was obsessed. He was nuzzling his nose into Ryan’s hair, running his fingertips across Ryan’s hips, tangling his legs with Ryan’s legs, getting as much of Ryan as he could into his system with their clothes still on and the door still open. Ryan’s head was resting on Brendon’s chest, where it belonged. “I… I’m glad I trusted you again.”

“Thank you so much for the second chance, baby,” Brendon breathed into his hair, dancing his fingertips up Ryan’s hip over the healing stab wound, then down his navel. “It’s more than I could have ever asked for, let alone hope.” He sighed softly and splayed his hand open across Ryan’s abdomen. “I could have lost someone as amazing as you to my own cruelty. I would have never forgiven myself. Never lived it down, and never found anyone better.”

Brendon could feel Ryan smiled. He rubbed Ryan’s hip again, tracing a heart into the iliac crest that was jutting out prominently. Brendon was obsessed with how deliciously skinny Ryan was. Those long limbs and graceful fingers made Brendon’s heart do weird shit that always got him excited.

“I know you now,” Ryan murmured, still smiling. “And I know that you… You started with good intentions, for Greta. But you came to, I guess. And that’s what I needed. I need you. I needed you to give up that horrible girl and come to me.”

“Crazy that I spent my whole life without knowing who she really is,” Brendon murmured. 

“It’d be like me not knowing if Spencer’s name was really Spencer,” Ryan sighed, obviously trying to sympathize. Brendon really appreciated how he did that. Ryan always tried to show he was on Brendon’s side by avidly trying to relate. It was tiny gestures like that that made Ryan the love of Brendon’s life.

“I love you, you know?” Brendon asked softly as he curled his fingers tenderly in Ryan’s hair. “You’re the most beautiful boy in the room of every building in every city in every state in every country in every world in every universe.”

Ryan giggled and curled further into Brendon’s side. “Spend forever with me?”

“As long as promise to hit me over the top of the head if I befriend anymore fucking psychopaths,” Brendon hummed. “And I’ll protect you from every stalker that tries to take what’s mine.”

Ryan sat up to straddle Brendon’s waist and kissed him adoringly. “Kinda wished I’d gotten to spend our first Christmas together actually together. But we’re going to win that trial and live forever. So we’ve got all the time in the world.”

Brendon grinned. “And get the next Christmas done right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay we're done yaaaaayyyy
> 
> thanks for reading
> 
> just had get this out of my head
> 
> thanks


End file.
